


Melting the Ice Queen

by TanyaReed



Series: Melting the Ice Queen [1]
Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Kowalski starts sending secret admirer letters to Inspector Thatcher as a joke.   Before he knows it, the letters aren't a joke anymore, and he's falling in love with her.  Can the truth be revealed without both of them getting hurt?</p><p>(Set at the end of the 4th season, and I took seasons 3 and 4 to be a year each, even though I've realized since it wasn't so.  This goes AU after Good for the Soul.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melting the Ice Queen

Ray Kowalski bounced his way up the steps into the Canadian Consulate. The sun was shining, he had the afternoon off, and Fraser and Turnbull had promised to play some ball with him when they got off work. He was a little early, but he was hoping the Ice Queen would let his friends go if they were done their work for the day. She did sometimes, even if it didn't happen very often.

Ray threw the door open to see Turnbull working at his desk diligently. When Ray entered, the tall Mountie looked up and smiled.

“Ray, you're early.”

“I know it. The Ice Queen in?”

Turnbull snuck a glance at his Superior Officer's door. A look of real fear flashed over his face.

“Ray,” he whispered fiercely, “it is not appropriate to speak that way about Ins...”

Ray held up his hand. “I'll take that as a yes. Is Fraser here?”

“Constable Fraser is in his office finishing up his 10989B Report.”

“Any chance the Ice...I mean the Inspector...will let you out early?”

“I'm scheduled for another one point four hours.”

“I know. I said early, Turnbull. Early.” He drawled the last word out slowly.

“I have no idea.”

Ray sighed and said, “I'm gonna talk to Fraser. The Ice Queen lets you go, come get us.”

“As you wish.”

Ray shook his head as he wandered towards Fraser's office. Sometimes talking to Turnbull was like talking to a wall. Even so, he liked the Constable and had considered him a friend since they'd spent a couple of days together almost a year before. In fact, he was considering asking Turnbull to go see _Burning Down the House_ with him when the movie came to theatres in a couple of weeks.

The back of the Consulate was quiet and more dimly lit than the front. It was also more private, and Ray knew that's what Fraser liked about it.

A year before, Ray would have barged into the tiny, closet-like room that his friend called an office. Today, he stopped and knocked politely, grimacing to himself as he realized that Fraser was slowly rubbing off on him.

“Come in.”

“Hey, Frase,” Ray said, opening the door.

“Oh, hello, Ray. You're early.”

“Yeah. I just went through this with Turnbull. You almost done?”

“I just have to finish this last form, and I am free for the weekend. Inspector Thatcher is leaving early herself and told me once my duties are done, I'm free to go.”

“What about Turnbull?”

“He's terribly behind,” Fraser sounded disapproving.

“Do you think he'll stop working after Thatcher goes?”

“And leave his paperwork undone?” The shock on Fraser's face made Ray want to laugh. Instead, he just grinned and plopped into the guest chair. “C'mon, Fraser. He can finish on Monday. It's a beautiful day out there.”

“I don't think...”

“And what she doesn't know won't hurt her.”

“Ray.”

Ray just shook his head and tapped his foot impatiently. Fraser's hand flew as he filled in the report. Still, it didn't seem fast enough. Ray hit his head lightly on the back of his chair, listening to the noise. He really wasn't good at waiting.

He started counting rubber ducks in his mind and had gotten as far as fifty-three when there was a polite knock on the still open door.

Fraser's pen stopped scratching and he looked up. Ray turned slightly and saw the Inspector standing in the doorway. He let his eyes drift over her because he knew she hadn't noticed he was looking at her. She was wearing a beige suit that modestly hugged her curves and brought out the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her serious face gave away nothing of what she was thinking, but her normally porcelain pale cheeks held a hint of color.

“Well, I'm off, Fraser,” she said. “Are you almost done your 10989B Report?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Put it on my desk on your way out.”

“Yes, sir.”

She nodded at him slightly, then her eyes slid to Ray. “Detective.”

“Inspector,” he replied in the same tone.

She turned and left the room without another word. Seconds later, her stern voice drifted through the open door.

“How far have you gotten, Turnbull?”

“These are finished, ma'am. I still have these to do.”

“All of those?” Her disapproval was sharp in her voice. Ray winced in sympathy for Turnbull.

“Yes, sir.”

“That could take you all night.”

“Yes, sir.” Turnbull sounded forlorn.

“It's Friday afternoon. I'm leaving, and soon Constable Fraser will be as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a pause. Ray sat up straighter, wondering if his plans for the day were about to be crushed.

“Leave it.” There was a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

“Sir?” In his mind, Ray could see the look of absolute befuddlement on his friend's face.

“Just this once, do you understand? Go home and tackle the work on Monday. I expect it to be completed by the time you leave Monday evening. Is this understood?”

“Leave my paperwork, sir?”

“Turnbull.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Finished,” Fraser announced at the same time.

Ray immediately bounced to his feet. “Then let's go.”

Fraser stood up and started tidying his desk. He was still tidying when Turnbull appeared, his face flushed and excited.

“I have been relieved for the day,” he announced unnecessarily.

“I am also finished,” Fraser told him, grabbing his report.

“Greatness. Now, let's get going,” Ray prodded, herding his friends through the door.

“I'm glad we're leaving early,” Turnbull commented as they moved towards the Inspector's office.

“Yeah? Why's that?

“After our game, I would like to go out and buy a present for the woman I wish to be my Valentine this year.”

“Let me guess,” Ray asked in amusement, “Frannie?”

The large Mountie looked stunned. “Yes. How did you know?”

“It's not like it's a secret. When is Valentine's Day, anyway?”

“Sunday, so I don't have much time. I need to find the perfect present. Any suggestions?”

“You can't go wrong with flowers,” Ray said absently, looking around as they entered the Inspector's office.

It was neat. Not one thing was out of place. Even what little paper there was on her desk was stacked perfectly. Ray thought of his own desk; sometimes it was so cluttered he had to dig to find the surface. There was something suspicious about a person whose office was this neat. His eyes flicked to Fraser, who was carefully placing his form on his boss's desk. Maybe it was a Canadian thing.

The three men didn't speak until they left the office because that solemn room seemed to forbid any noise. Ray couldn't stay quiet long, however, and as soon as they were outside and he was bouncing down the Consulate steps much as he had bounced up, he asked, “So, why'd the Ice Queen leave early? Hot date?”

“No, Ray,” Fraser told him, following at a more sedate pace. “She is going to a little girl's first birthday party.”

Ray snorted. “I should have known. Who'd want to go out with the Ice Queen?”

“The Inspector is a lovely woman. If you'd just give her a chance...”

“Are you kidding? Her legs are probably frozen together. If someone wanted to be her Valentine, she'd probably kick 'em in the head.”

Ray turned to see both Mounties looking at him with identical expressions of horror. He quietly backtracked in his mind to see what he'd said that would make their faces do _that_. Oh. Well, he wasn't going to apologize. Until he had proof otherwise, he was going to believe her legs really _were_ frozen together.

“C'mon. Pitter patter, let's get at 'er. It'll be dark soon.”

Turnbull's horrified look turned puzzled. “Are we playing outside?”

“The brisk air will do you good, Turnbull,” Fraser put in.

“In February?” Ray said at the same time. “Nah. I've got a place I go to.”

Turnbull smiled a wide smile that spread across his broad face. “Excellent.”

XXX

Three games of basketball later, Ray was tiredly following the man who was rapidly becoming his ex-friend. They were in the mall, going from store to store as Turnbull searched for the perfect gift for Frannie.

Turnbull had insisted that he couldn't find that present alone, so Ray had reluctantly agreed to help. The thing was, he hated shopping for women. It gave him a headache. The absolute joy Turnbull took in the process made it a hundred times worse.

Ray groaned as they stepped into another trinket shop. Why couldn't Turnbull just take his suggestion about the flowers so they could go home?

He sighed as he watched his friend carefully study a shelf full of angel figurines. With the way they were going, Ray would be lucky to get home in time for the late news. Bored, his eyes started wandering and so did his mind.

One of the figures on a nearby shelf caught his attention. It was a small, dark-haired fairy, dressed in white, with ice and snow clinging to its dress. Despite her remote face, the features were pretty. Because her only real color was in her dark hair and eyes, Ray's gaze was naturally drawn to them. He squinted at the figure, thinking that she reminded him of something...or someone. When he read the tag, he chuckled to himself. It was an ice fairy. The name alone tempted him to buy it and put it on the Ice Queen's desk. It was pretty enough that she might not take offense.

Thinking of the Ice Queen, Ray remembered his comment about her killing any would-be Valentines. In his head, he saw Turnbull approaching her with a card and ice fairy in his hands. Ray smiled as he also saw the Ice Queen laying her subordinate out flat on the floor.

Of course, his thoughts went even further, she couldn't deck her Valentine if she didn't know who he was. What if she got the request from a secret admirer? What would she do then? Would she still want to kick him in the head? Would she be embarrassed? Ray's mind supplied an image of an outraged Thatcher crumpling an envelope and throwing it disdainfully in a garbage can by her desk. That would be something to see.

“What do you think, Ray?” Turnbull cut into his amused thoughts, holding up two cherubs. “Do you think your ersatz sister would like one of these?”

“My er...what?” Ray blinked in confusion.

“Francesca. Which do you think she'd prefer?”

“I don't know. I'd still go with the flowers.”

“Really?” He frowned.

“Yes. Now, can we go?”

“But...but flowers die, Ray.”

“And so does love. Let's go.”

Turnbull looked almost as shocked as he had when Ray had spoken about his boss's thighs. He sputtered before saying, “It's Valentine's Day! Don't you believe in love?”

Ray shrugged as an image of Stella flashed into his mind. He hadn't been thinking of her as much lately, but sometimes she would suddenly appear and punch him in the gut.

Turnbull shook his head sadly. “Love does exist, Ray.”

“If you say so...”

Turnbull looked at the figurines in his hands once more, then threaded his way through the shelves still holding them. Ray was going to follow him when something made him stop. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he went up to the shelf and palmed the small, cold fairy. He just couldn't leave her in the store.

Without stopping to analyze this, he followed Turnbull's retreating back.

XXX

Meg Thatcher was tired. She wasn't even the baby's mother, she was just a friend helping out, and she felt as if she'd been up for days. All-nighters at the Consulate were not half as tiring as helping Nancy chase a room full toddlers and preschoolers. The children seemed to be everywhere and, with even twice the amount of adults that were actually in the house, they still would have needed eyes in the backs of their heads.

She sighed as she reached down and caught one screaming body as it tried to streak by into Nancy's 'no children' zone.

The child wiggled good naturedly, so Meg turned her around and pointed her in the direction of the kitchen.

“It's almost time for cake, Amber.”

“Choc'lit?”

“I believe so.”

The child changed course and restarted her banshee-like, joyful screaming as she headed for the promise of cake.

Meg couldn't stop the amused smile that came to her face as she followed the rambunctious child.

The others were already gathered in the kitchen, fifteen children and five adults. Nancy stood by the sideboard with her daughter Joy in her arms. The baby was rosy-cheeked with sleepy, droopy eyes and soft blond hair. Her mom bounced her absently, and Meg felt a faint pang of jealousy. She didn't let it show on her face as she met Nancy's eyes across the room.

“I found another one.”

“Great. I think that's everyone.” Nancy's eyes slid over the group as she did a quick head count.

“Is everyone ready for cake?”

There was a chorus of excited “yeses”.

Meg went over to Nancy and asked, “Would you like me to hold Joy?”

“Would you?” She held out the baby, and Meg took her with practiced ease.

“Meg,” the baby said happily, and Meg kissed her cheek.

“Hello, Sweetheart.”

Just a year ago, Meg had known nothing about babies, though she longed to have one. Through her friendship with Nancy, she had slowly become wiser and more comfortable.

Once Nancy had passed Joy to Meg, she lit the big candle--a bear holding a giant number one-- in the middle of the cake. Meg brought Joy over to her high chair and settled her in as the kids sang and shouted the words to “Happy Birthday”. By the time Nancy reached the high chair with the cake, they were all watching it with shining eyes.

The blowing out of the candle was a big affair, with children yelling encouragement. Despite this, Joy seemed more interested in playing with the frosting than anything else. In the end, her cousin Rory was called from the crowd to help. He did so, proudly showing off to his friends before letting out a great gust of air that ruffled Joy's hair. As the candle sputtered and went out, the kids all clapped and cheered, including Joy, though Meg doubted the baby knew what was going on.

Nancy's sister, Rose, came up to her and offered, “I'll cut the cake for you. You look exhausted.”

“Thanks.” Nancy smiled gratefully.

As Rose spirited the cake away, Meg ran her hand over the top of Joy's head. “I can't believe she's a year old already. It seems like just yesterday I was buying that Mr. Feed Me machine.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Feed Me?”

“Or something like that.” Meg shook her head. “On the advice of a friend, I returned it.”

“So, when are you going to finally break down and have some little ones of your own? You're so good with Joy.”

Meg felt a stab of pain, and she had to look away from her friend's inquiring gaze. “I don't know. I have zero prospects in the romance department. I work too hard to meet anyone.”

“And?” Nancy put a hand on Meg's arm. “What's wrong?”

“My adoption application was denied.” It had been a couple of months, and she knew she should be over it by now, but it still hurt. “I failed the home inspection.”

“I'm so sorry, Meg.” She drew her out of the kitchen away from the many sets of ears. “What happened?”

Meg shrugged, letting her familiar mask of cool detachment come to her face. “They said my career was too high risk for a single parent.”

“Being a diplomat?” Nancy drew her brow down in puzzlement.

“No, being a member of the RCMP. I'm a police officer, Nancy.”

She chewed her lip and gave Meg an apologetic look. “That's right...Sometimes I forget.”

Meg couldn't quite keep the sadness out of her voice as she admitted, “Yeah. Me too.”

XXX

On Saturday, February 13th, Ray Kowalski woke up with a plan. It had been a fragment of an amusing thought when he went to sleep, but by morning it had blossomed and bloomed.

As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he smiled. Why wonder what the Ice Queen's reaction to a secret admirer would be when he had the power to find out? It wouldn't be that hard to mix an anonymous card and note in with the Consulate mail. The only tricky part would be making sure he was there when she received it. Even if he didn't get to see her open it, it would be fun to see her puzzling over the strange envelope. Maybe he'd even get to tease her about it a little. Of course, he thought, frowning, he'd never let her know it was from him or that it wasn't from a real admirer. If he went through with this, he would be doing it for amusement, not to hurt her feelings. He knew she had them in there somewhere, and Ray wasn't the type to purposefully hurt a woman. If she never found out the sentiment wasn't real, no harm would be done.

The first thing he had to do was find a card. It couldn't be too sappy or the funny one he'd normally buy. To sell it, he had to make the whole thing seem real. That meant he had to find a card as elegant and classy as she was. There were a lot of negative things that he could say about the Inspector, but he had to admit that she was pretty and she oozed class. She was like that rich movie star you saw on TV entertainment news—elegant, remote, and willing to slap a restraining order on you if you tried to touch her.

He'd buy some new paper too. Maybe something that was a light pink and smelled nice.

As he dressed, he thought about what the note should say. If it were going to be signed from him, he probably would have said something silly like, “I wonder if your skin is as cold as the ice in your eyes,” or “Your glare freezes my heart,” or even, “If I'm really bad, will you spank me?”

By the time he was pulling up his pants, he was laughing so hard he almost tripped.

Of course, those words wouldn't do if the note were coming from someone who had fallen in love with her from across a crowded room. They had to be simple and as close to true as he could make them. That left him with elegant, classy, and pretty.

Most women liked being told they were pretty, he told himself, and the Inspector was more than a little pretty. Enough so that saying beautiful wouldn't really be a stretch. Not that he had noticed.

“I suppose I could always comment on the perfection of her ass,” he mumbled to himself. Not that he had noticed that either.

The ice fairy stared at him accusingly from his dresser.

XXX

Meg liked Sundays. They were calm and quiet and nobody bothered her to file this or plan that or discipline them. It was her time and, when she didn't have plans, her favorite thing to do was absolutely nothing. Sundays were for books and silly TV movies and maybe chats on the phone with her sister or her father.

This Sunday, she was curled up on her couch in her pajamas, searching in vain for something to watch. The first sight that met her eyes when she turned the TV on was a pink screen with a heart in the middle that said, “TV's All-time Favorite Love Stories”. Meg frowned and flipped to the next station, which was showing a sickly sweet romantic comedy.

“Oh, please,” Meg groaned to herself, rolling her eyes. She found romantic comedies and self-proclaimed “chick flicks” tedious unless they were very well done or movies she had enjoyed when she was young and naive.

When she found three more variations of the same theme on the next three stations, she sighed heavily. Even the History Channel let her down; it was playing “History's Favorite Couples”.

“What is going on today?” Usually, she could find a good documentary or a compelling drama on Lifetime. She flicked through a couple more stations, then gave up and turned off the TV.

With a frown, her eyes flicked to the page-a-day “Hunk” calendar that Francesca Vecchio had given her in their holiday exchange a couple of months before. Suddenly, it all made sense.

“Bleah,” she said, throwing her remote to the coffee table in disgust. “The day deluded men and women decide to show their questionable affection in large and ridiculous ways.”

It was a day made to fool people into believing the biggest lie of all. It was bigger than Santa Claus. Bigger than Elvis being alive and well out there somewhere. It was the myth that true love existed outside the boundaries of that fake Hollywood world, and every day otherwise rational people fell for it. She had almost fallen for it herself once or twice.

She got up and headed for her bedroom, determined to find something to read. And it would not be a romance novel.

XXX

The Consulate was still closed and the sun had not yet risen when Ray parked his GTO a block away and moved through the darkness to the front door.

As he went quietly up the steps, he hoped that he wouldn't wake Fraser or that Dief wouldn't bark. If Fraser found out about the joke, he would certainly put an end to it. That wouldn't do, especially after Ray had laboured so hard over both the card and the note. Neither was as easy as he thought they would be. It took him over an hour to pick out the card, and, even though he kind of knew what he wanted to say, it took almost as long to decide how to put it down.

The mailbox near the door squeaked a little as he raised the lid. Ray froze and listened for noise coming from inside the Consulate. When there was no sign of sleepy Mountie or hungry wolf, he slipped the pink envelope inside.

The lid squeaked again as he lowered it carefully, but not quite as loudly. Without turning back—praying the 'if I can't see you, you can't see me' philosophy would work—he crept down the stairs then took off at a sprint.

By the time he reached his car, he was laughing. He did it! He had actually written and delivered a love note to the Ice Queen. His success made him giddy.

Now all he had to do was make sure he was there when she received it.

XXX

It was about eleven o'clock the second time Ray made his way to the Canadian Consulate. This time, he parked directly out front and whistled as he went up the front steps. He glanced at the mailbox, which was slightly open, and saw other envelopes mixed in with his own pink one. That meant it wouldn't be long until Turnbull came out to get the mail. All Ray had to do was somehow figure out a way to be in the foyer when the Ice Queen came out to look through it.

“Mornin', Turnbull,” he said cheerily as he came through the door.

“Good morning, Ray.” The Mountie looked up and beamed benevolently. “Did you notice if the mail has arrived?”

For a moment, Ray thought he had been made, but then he remembered who he was talking to. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Excellent. And how was your Valentine's Day?”

Ray shrugged. “I spent it helping Tony and Maria move. How'd your present work on Frannie?”

Turnbull's broad face broke into a smile. “I had a wonderful Valentine's Day. When I gave Francesca her present, she agreed to accompany me to dinner and a movie.”

“Glad you had a good time.”

“It was lovely. Francesca is a delightful companion.”

“Good to hear. Fraser in?”

“Yes, he is, Ray. He is in his office making plans for the Consular Ball next month. Will you be attending?”

Ray was about to go past the desk and towards Fraser's office, but he stopped at this comment. “Me?”

“Yes. In the interest of our cultural relations, the Inspector has been asked to invite members of the Chicago Police Department that have been working closely with us. Invitees include Detectives Huey and Dewey, Francesca, Lt. Welsh, and yourself.”

“Me?” he asked again.

“I'm sorry if I let the cat out of the bag.”

Ray waved a hand. “It's okay.”

“I hope you will consider attending. It will be quite an affair.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He didn't add that he'd rather have a root canal or listen to Frannie interview a suspect.

Ray turned and headed to Fraser's office. The door was open, and Fraser was studying a piece of paper and mumbling to himself.

“You know that's the first sign you're crazy,” Ray said with a smile.

“Oh, hello, Ray. I'm just trying to figure out the guest list for our Consular Ball.”

“Are you almost done? I thought you were coming with me this morning.”

“And I am. I just have to finish this. Have a seat.”

Ray looked at the chair then out the doorway. If this took too long, he would miss Thatcher's reaction to his note and everything would be ruined.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No”, was all he could say as he parked his butt in his usual chair.

It seemed like forever before Fraser stood and grabbed his tunic. It seemed to take even longer to do up the buttons and put on his Sam Browne. Ray tapped his foot impatiently and played with the buttons on his own jacket.

When Fraser was finally ready, Ray jumped to his feet and snatched Fraser's Stetson off of a nearby file cabinet.

“Here you go, buddy.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“Welcome.”

Turnbull was just settling back into his chair when Ray, Diefenbaker, and Fraser entered the foyer. He set the mail neatly to one side on his desk and picked up his phone.

“The mail is here, sir.”

Fraser was headed for the outside door, and the Ice Queen hadn't even come out of her office yet.

“Wait a minute, Frase,” Ray blurted.

His friend turned puzzled eyes to him. “What is it, Ray?”

Ray searched his mind frantically for anything that would make sense. He was saved by Turnbull's, “Oh, sir, before you go, I really need you to look over this 141RB Report. The Inspector insisted that you read it and sign it to make sure I got the correct details.”

“Now, Turnbull?”

“I apologize, sir, but she wanted it by noon.”

Fraser nodded and went to Turnbull's desk while Ray just smiled to himself.

The Inspector appeared moments later, her expression unreadable. There were papers in her hands, and she calmly took in the scene in front of her.

“Are you leaving, Constable?” she asked, approaching Turnbull's desk.

“Yes, sir,” Fraser replied, “but I'll be back in time for my shift.”

“And Turnbull's 141RB Report?”

“I'm reading it over now.”

She nodded her acceptance and held out the papers in her hand to Turnbull. “Can I trust you to fax these, Constable?”

“Yes, sir,” he assured her, sitting up straighter.

“Good. These need to be sent tomorrow. Do not forget.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, picking up the mail and trading with her.

Fraser asked Turnbull a question about his report, and Turnbull's attention wandered from the Inspector to his colleague. Ray leaned his butt against the desk, pretending to be bored and pretending that all of his attention was not on the Ice Queen.

She bit her lip as she started flipping through the mail in her hands. It was such an unconscious gesture when she was normally so careful and controlled that Ray rather liked it. He watched her closely as she dismissed each envelope until she got to the pink one that simply said, in Ray's own handwriting, “Inspector Meg Thatcher, Canadian Consulate.”

He saw a flicker of interest go over her pretty face as she picked it out of the pile and broke the seal. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that she was going to open it right there in front of him. As he watched her, he had to fight both the urge to stare and the urge to grin. He wondered eagerly what her reaction would be.

Slim fingers took out the card Ray had laboured over. Her eyes skimmed over the words before she opened it. He saw her read what was inside.

A small blush went over her face, and her eyes widened slightly. Delight danced over her features, warm and happy, and a soft and sweet smile touched her mouth. They were both gone so quickly that neither Turnbull nor Fraser had seen them. But Ray had, and suddenly his joke didn't seem so funny anymore.

The Inspector quickly stuck the card and note into the pocket of her form fitting suit jacket. Then, she looked up at each of the three men. Fraser and Turnbull were still working, and Ray made sure his attention was on the floor.

“Are you almost done with the report, Constables?” she asked.

Both of them looked her way, and Fraser said, “Almost, sir.”

Her eyes slid to Ray. “Detective.”

It took all he had to give her a disinterested, “Inspector.”

As the Ice Queen turned and went back to her office, Ray felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what he had expected her reaction to be—anger, embarrassment, a dramatic eyeroll—but he hadn't expected her to take innocent pleasure from it. She had looked so happy; he'd never seen her smile like that before. It softened her face and her eyes, smoothing away the serious lines and making her look like a person he'd really like to know.

He was a jerk.

XXX

Meg Thatcher smiled to herself as she worked on her paperwork later that day. Occasionally, her eyes flicked to the small pink envelope carefully placed on the side of her desk. Silly as it was, the card and note inside had kept her smiling all day.

It wasn't often that she received a Valentine. In fact, besides the yearly one from her father, she could count the ones she had received as an adult on one hand. Despite her views on the whole consumer market fabricated holiday, she was honest enough about her own hypocrisy to admit that getting the card had been a pleasant surprise. Someone had actually taken the time to buy her a card, one both tasteful and sugar-free, and to put a sweet message inside it.

For not the first time, she wondered who could have sent it. Both the card and the note were signed, _“From your secret admirer,”_ which wasn't very informative. What kind of man would do something so nice and then not want to take credit for it?

Meg wasn't getting any creepy vibes from it, so she had ruled out someone with malicious intent, like a stalker. The whole thing had her puzzled and more than a little curious. Even though her eyes were staring at her paperwork, her mind went through possible matches for the careful, slightly uneven handwriting.

It could have been anyone. Since the envelope had no address and no stamp, the giver had to be someone in Chicago. There were several men she came into contact with while performing her diplomatic duties. She came in regular contact with several more while performing her duties as an RCMP administrator and with her own interaction, which wasn't as much as Fraser's but was still quite extensive, with the 27th Division of the Chicago Police Department.

She stilled a moment as a thought drifted through her mind. What if it were from Fraser or Turnbull? The thought made a rush of flame spread over her face. Could one of her Constables have sent her a note that said, _“I don't know how it's possible, but you get prettier each time I see you”_?

Meg forced herself to breathe. Turnbull was smitten with Francesca Vecchio, wasn't he? She was sure he was. But what about Fraser?

The two of them had been through a lot together. At first their relationship had been mostly mutual attraction and denial but lately, in the past year or so—since the confusion about her wanting to adopt a child, she thought sadly—their relationship had moved more towards friendship. A deep and lasting friendship, she liked to believe, but who knew what would happen when this posting ended?

Meg reached out and picked up the pink envelope. She studied the handwriting carefully. It didn't look like Fraser's neat, precise script, but stranger things had happened. She wondered if her male acquaintances would think her crazy if she asked them all to provide a sample of their handwriting.

Her lip quirked at the thought, and she was still staring at the envelope when her phone beeped.

“Yes, Turnbull?”

“A very lovely lady is here to see you, ma'am.”

Meg dropped the envelope. “What?”

Turnbull cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Miss Francesca Vecchio is here to see you.”

“Francesca Vecchio?”

“Yes, sir. She has papers for you to sign from Lieutenant Welsh.”

Meg frowned and shuffled her papers so that her pink envelope was hidden. “All right, send her in.”

She was calm and composed and working on her neglected paperwork when Francesca came in.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello, Francesca.”

Meg studied the Civilian Aide thoughtfully. They had worked a couple of cases together and, despite their differences, Meg really liked her. Lately, Francesca had taken to dressing more conservatively and toning down her bright and wild image, but the spark of fun and willingness to believe was still in her eyes.

“The Lieutenant ordered me down here. I hope you're not too busy.”

“No,” Meg assured her. “It's fine.” It wasn't as if she were getting any work done anyway.

“There are a couple of claim forms, a report on what happened with that mob guy last Christmas, and some other stuff. He wants me to wait while you read and sign them.”

“All right.” Meg waved her to one of the extra chairs. “Have a seat.”

Francesca plopped the papers on the desk and sat. She looked around in appreciation. “This is a nice office.”

“Thank you.”

“All I get is that dinky desk...well, you've seen it.”

“Yes.” She also remembered how Francesca had personalized it. Animal prints and flowers. Not Meg's style but very Francesca Vecchio.

“I'd like to have my own office. That way, I could hide sometimes when _he's_ yelling for me.”

Meg raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Lieutenant Welsh?”

“He growls just like a bear.”

“I can imagine.” The Lieutenant was large and rough and gruff, but Meg liked him. And she knew Francesca did as well.

The two women were silent as Meg began to go over the forms. They were dry and boring, but then so much of her job was.

She heard Francesca get up and glanced in her direction. Francesca was walking around the office, peering at Meg's paintings and pictures.

“Is everything all right?”

“Just looking. Is this your family?”

She was pointing to a picture taken about five years before of Meg in red serge with her father smiling on her right and Lisa with a baby in her arms on the left.

“Yes.”

“Your dad looks nice.” This she said rather quietly, making Meg curious in spite of herself.

“He is.” Meg smiled slightly. “A little old fashioned, but kind.”

Francesca frowned, her face taking on a faraway quality. After a moment, she asked, “What does it feel like?”

“What?”

“Respect.”

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

Francesca sighed and flopped back into her chair. “I've been thinking about it a lot lately. At first, I thought it was that I wanted to be a cop. I'm around cops all the time, so it's only natural, right? But I don't think that's it anymore. I think what I want is the respect. Nobody has ever respected me in my whole life. Sometimes I think my brother was right. No matter what I do, no one will ever respect me.”

Meg put down her pen and frowned darkly. “Vecchio said that?”

“Yeah. How do you do it? How do you get them to respect you?”

Meg thought about her answer before replying, “I don't ask for their respect. I expect it. You can't let men think that they're better than you are just because they have a couple of bits that you don't. You show them that you will take nothing less than the respect you deserve. Most men will respond to that, some more than others. Sometimes, you're lucky, and you'll come across men like Fraser and Turnbull who respect your rank and position no matter what gender you are--and if you tell them I said that, I'll deny it. The absolute truth is that some men will never respect you, no matter who you are or what you do. I've come across a couple of those in my work—and in my life. When it's a senior officer, it makes it...difficult... to get through the days. When it's someone under your command, you have to get rid of him or risk the demolition of your whole house of cards.”

“This senior officer...?”

Meg grimaced. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

Francesca nodded in understanding. “Oh. One of _those_.”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe even someone like you would have that kind of problem.”

Meg didn't know whether to be insulted by this or not, especially after she had opened herself up to the younger woman. “What do you mean someone like me?”

“You know,” Francesca said, “Confident.”

Meg blinked. “Oh.”

“Some men stink.”

“I agree.”

“But not Ren.” Francesca's face broke out into her normal easy smile.

“You're on a first name basis with Constable Turnbull, are you?”

“Yeah. Ever since we went to that Tracy Jenkins concert. He even took me out for Valentine's Day.”

Meg didn't know exactly how to answer this, so she settled for the diplomatic, “Constable Turnbull is a special man.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You know, you don't have to remain in my office, Francesca. It's perfectly all right for you to join Turnbull for a few minutes.”

“He won't get in trouble?”

Meg shook her head slightly. “It's fine.”

Francesca sprang from her seat. “Just let me know when you're done.”

“I'll bring the papers out to you,” she assured her.

“Thanks.” Francesca was almost to the door when she turned around. “Um...Inspector...?”

Meg looked up from the papers once more. “Yes?”

“I was just thinking...This might sound strange, coming from me, but I was wondering if you'd like to come to dinner at my house tomorrow night. We're having a family dinner, friends too. Ray and Benton and Ren will all be there.”

“Me?”

“Well, yeah. If you're free. We've known each other for ages, so why not?”

Meg swallowed. “It's very nice of you to offer, Francesca, but I'm not sure it would be appropriate to socialize with my Constables outside of work.”

The other woman snorted. “What Ottawa doesn't know won't hurt 'em. Besides, I'd like you to come. All Maria talks about is her kids and, while that's okay, sometimes when she goes on and on, I want to scream. And she's going to be the only other woman there, besides Ma, if you don't come.”

“Don't you think your mother would mind a stranger at the table?”

“Ma? Nah. She loves me bringin' friends home. Like I was twelve or something.”

“Well, if you're certain.”

“Great! Supper's at six. Follow the trail of Mounties.”

As she left the office, Meg found herself feeling both bemused and confused. Surprise was in there too. She could not believe that Francesca Vecchio had reached out to her. This day was turning out to be a very interesting one.

XXX

“Are you sure we were supposed to be here at six, Fraser?” Ray asked as he got out of his car and popped on his sunglasses.

“Quite sure, Ray,” his friend replied, letting Diefenbaker out of the backseat.

“I thought it was seven.”

“If so, it doesn't hurt to be early.”

There were several cars in the driveway and some going down the street. Ray frowned as he studied them. “I don't see Turnbull's car here. Isn't he always on time or something?”

Fraser frowned. “Usually.” He sounded a little distracted.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You always say that, Fraser, and it's never nothin'.”

“Well, it's just that car there looks an awful lot like...Oh, dear.”

“Okay, now I'm sure it's not nothin'.”

His friend rubbed a thumb nervously over his eyebrow. “Does this car look familiar to you?”

Ray's eyes traveled over the black Impala they were walking past. “Kinda. Maybe.” Fraser gave him a look slightly tinged with exasperation, so he continued, “I said, 'Maybe'.”

“This is Inspector Thatcher's car.”

“What?” It came out slightly louder than Ray had intended. He studied the car carefully and realized that Fraser was right. It was the same car he saw outside the Consulate every day. “What's she doin' here?”

“I assume she was invited, Ray.”

Ray made a face. He didn't know if he could stand a whole dinner with the Ice Queen, even if it meant Ma Vecchio's cooking. How were his friends supposed to relax with their boss in the room? Besides, he admitted to himself, he was still trying to forget her reaction to his note the day before. For just an instant, she had seemed like a whole different person.

“Who would go and do that?”

“It will be fine.”

“You won't even be able to take off your uniform.”

Fraser looked down at himself, his expression puzzled. He was wearing a blue sweater, his leather jacket, and his blue jeans.

“I mean rhetorically,” Ray told him.

“Do you mean figuratively?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

They reached the front door and, even though it was closed, voices and laughter could be heard. Ray opened it without hesitation just to annoy Fraser, who always knocked.

“Anybody home?” he asked unnecessarily.

“Uncle Ray!” Maria's youngest son, who didn't even remember there had been another Uncle Ray, flew at him with a flying tackle.

“Hiya, Mikey!” he said, giving the small boy a big hug before putting him down.

The boy then regarded Fraser seriously. “Hello, Uncle Benny.”

Fraser gave the boy a gentle smile. “Good afternoon, Michael. Are you well?”

“Yes, sir. And you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Ray groaned as the boy darted off with Dief at his heels. “Don't tell me you're teaching Mikey to talk Canadian. You are a bad influence on this family.”

“It doesn't hurt to have manners.”

“Manners schmanners.”

They followed the chatter of voices to a dining room full of people. Everyone was moving around each other, talking and, occasionally, yelling. Ray counted nine people—and that was without the children. Frannie, Turnbull, Maria, and one of the Vecchio cousins seemed to be bringing out food, while another of the cousins and his boyfriend were placing the dishes evenly on the table. Ma was directing everything while Tony kept sneaking tastes. The Ice Queen was the only one not talking and laughing, but she had pitched in to help. She was weaving through the people, trying to set the table. Her face was a little pale, and she had a slightly stunned expression. Ray smiled as he remembered his first meal with the Vecchios.

“Benton, Ray, I thought you were going to be late,” Ma Vecchio said when she caught sight of them.

Ray bent and kissed her cheek. “Sorry, Ma. My fault.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Fraser asked.

“That's the reason Ray's always late, you know,” Frannie said conversationally as she passed a bowl to her cousin Thom. “So he doesn't have to help.”

Ray briefly stuck out his tongue at the girl pretending to be his sister. He had never had a sister before, and he was finding having two an interesting experience.

Frannie just chuckled and went back to the kitchen.

“You just sit and get comfortable,” Ma was telling Fraser, ignoring Ray and Frannie's exchange.

Ray glanced once more at Thatcher before following Frannie into the kitchen.

“What do you want, Ray?”

They were alone in the kitchen so Ray asked lowly, “What's the Ice Queen doing here?”

Frannie glanced at the door. “I invited her.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

“She's the Ice Queen.”

“She's got some strange ideas, but she's kinda nice...and I think she needed it.”

“What do you mean?”

Frannie shrugged but didn't say anything as Turnbull came through the door. “How are we doing, Francesca?”

“Just two more dishes.”

“May I take one?”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Ren. Geez, Ray, haven't you learned anything from him and Frase yet?”

“I can take the other one.”

“Good.” She shoved it at him, potholders and all, and flounced back into the dining room.

With a grimace, Ray followed her and Turnbull. The heat from the dish warmed his hands even through the potholders.

Fraser, despite Ma's suggestion, was setting up the kids' table for Maria's children. Everyone else was arguing as they scrambled for places to sit.

Thatcher looked a little lost until Frannie said, “Sit here, Inspector, between me and Ren.”

“Thank you, Francesca,” she murmured gratefully.

Ray took the chair across from them so he could talk to his friend and maybe even tease the Ice Queen. When Fraser was done, he came and sat at Ray's right. Ray didn't know the cousins very well, so he was happy when his other pretend sister, Maria, sat at his left.

There was more talking and laughing and pushing and yelling as everyone got seated, but it stopped immediately when Ma cleared her throat. She paused and then said a simple Grace. A chorus of “Amens” after the prayer was followed by reaching hands and more noise as everyone talked at once.

Ray joined the hands grasping for food, even though the three Mounties didn't. Frannie, aware they wouldn't after years of friendship with Fraser, passed Thatcher and Turnbull a dish every time she caught one. They were both looking rather timid and overwhelmed. Fraser, on the other hand, looked completely comfortable in the chaos and asked the Vecchios for certain dishes with very courteous “if-you-pleases” and “thank you kindlys”.

Ray continued to watch Inspector Thatcher with amusement. She was being very careful and very polite.

“Would you like some scalloped potatoes, Inspector?” he asked sweetly.

Thatcher glanced at him, so he grinned and held out the dish. She hesitated a moment before reaching out and taking it from him, her hands brushing his.

“Thank you, Detective.”

Ray winked at her, and she gave him a small smile. Her slim body seemed to relax slightly, and the smile was still on her face as she turned her head to talk to Frannie. Ray couldn't hear what the Inspector said, but Frannie's eyes widened and she chuckled.

Could it be that the Ice Queen had a sense of humour? He frowned. He hoped the comment that had made Frannie laugh wasn't about him.

The frown melted off of his face as he began to wonder what the Ice Queen's laugh sounded like. He'd never heard her laugh before. Her smiles were rare enough. He wondered if it would be a high, girly giggle or one of those throaty, sexy laughs that could make a man's stomach clench.

She wasn't laughing now, as she spooned potatoes onto her plate, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

“Would you like some scalloped potatoes, Turnbull?” she asked, echoing Ray's earlier question.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“So, Meg,” Ma Vecchio said, her voice expertly pitched to be heard over her boisterous family, “Frannie tells me you work at the Consulate with Benton and Renfield.”

Some of the Ice Queen's discomfort came back to her face for just a brief instant before her features went Inspector smooth. She cleared her throat before answering, “Yes, ma'am.”

Ray was surprised that she didn't correct Ma and tell her she was their boss. She was usually quick to make sure the Constables knew their place.

“And what do you do there, dear?”

“I'm the main administrator. I oversee the day to day running of the Consulate. Mostly, it's paperwork. To tell you the truth, it's rather boring, Mrs. Vecchio.”

Ma Vecchio beamed a smile, “Please call me Ma. All of my children's friends do.”

“I don't know if I'd be...” She glanced at Frannie, who nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

“Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” Thatcher admitted softly.

“You are a very pretty girl to be single. Except you're too thin. Do you ever take time to eat at that Consulate of yours?”

The Ice Queen opened her mouth to answer, but Frannie interrupted her. “Leave her alone, Ma.”

Her mother laughed. “I apologize. Apparently, my daughter is afraid I'll scare you off.”

“I'm having a very pleasant time, ma'am...Ma,” Thatcher told her politely. Then she added a sincere, “Really.”

“I'm glad. Frannie should invite you more often.” Her gaze then fell on Turnbull, and Thatcher turned to her meal.

Ray waited a couple of minutes before saying, “You know, Inspector, Salvatore down there is single. If you're looking.”

The Inspector had just taken a bite, and at Ray's words she started to cough violently. Her face turned red and her eyes watered. Turnbull slapped her a few times helpfully on the back.

Salvatore, the bachelor cousin, looked up at his name.

Thatcher's eyes were still watering when she glared at Ray and said, “Thank you, Detective. I'll keep that in mind.”

Her voice was slightly shaky from coughing, but there was steel in her gaze.

“I'm willing if you are...Meg?” Salvatore said smoothly from the end of the table.

Her smile this time was obviously fake, at least to Ray. “Thank you for the offer. I'll let you know.”

Ray wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh so bad.

And then he didn't as someone kicked him sharply under the table. Since Frannie and the Ice Queen were both glaring at him, he wasn't sure which one had done it. He was tempted to kick back and get both of them, but he didn't think he would like whatever the Ice Queen did in retaliation.

Instead of kicking her, it would serve her right if he gave her another note. Maybe it would drive her crazy trying to figure out who sent it. And maybe her reaction the day before had been a fluke. Maybe this time, it would annoy her instead of making her smile. He'd like that.

“Real mature, Ray,” Frannie said scathingly.

“What?” he asked, widening his eyes innocently. “I was just trying to get Meg,” her name felt funny coming from his lips, and kind of wicked too because it was usually forbidden, “a date.”

“I am quite capable of finding my own dates,” the Ice Queen replied coldly, dropping her gaze back to her plate.

“Ignore him,” Frannie waved a hand in Ray's general direction.

“I usually do.”

XXX

Inspector Thatcher yawned as she made her way up the steps to the Consulate. It was Monday morning, and Monday mornings were always hard for her. Even though her weekends were not as wild as they once were, her body still seemed to want to extend them until the last possible second.

It didn't help that she was in early. She usually started her day at 8:30 but, because of a meeting at the Chilean Consulate at nine, she had to come in an hour early to get some work done. It made her sleepy and rather cranky. If Fraser offered her a cheerful, “Good morning,” before she had another cup of coffee, she thought she might just give him sentry duty for a month.

She was about to unlock the Consulate door when she noticed the flap on the mailbox was slightly raised. She frowned and reached forward to close it when she realized there was something inside. On further inspection, she saw that it was an envelope with her name on it. It had no address and no stamp.

Her heart beat a little faster as she gingerly took the envelope from the box. After looking around to make sure she wasn't being observed, she carefully opened it.

There was no card this time. It was just a simple folded piece of paper. When she opened it, she read:

  
_“I want to hear you laugh and know it was me that made it happen.  
Love, your secret admirer”_   


Meg felt herself smile and her morning grumpiness left her.

Quickly, so Fraser wouldn't see her through the window, she stuffed the note back into the envelope. The envelope went safely into the pocket of her winter jacket, away from prying eyes.

When she opened the door, Diefenbaker came trotting in from the back of the foyer. He wuffled a greeting, which she answered cheerily.

“Good morning, Diefenbaker.” He gave her a questioning look, so she continued, “Sorry, no bagel this morning. No time for breakfast.”

He barked.

“Tomorrow, I promise.”

The wolf seemed to accept this because he turned around and went back towards Fraser's office. Meg shook her head as she went into her own. If someone would have told her before this posting that talking to a wolf was going to become a common occurrence in her life, she would never have believed it. Yet, somehow, Diefenbaker had become as much a part of her staff as Turnbull and Fraser, and often he seemed to have a lot more intelligence.

Even though she hadn't informed Fraser of the fact, she had secretly been sharing food with his wolf since the day Diefenbaker had stood up for her against a bully. The man was a Canadian national hero, but he was also used to getting what he wanted by force, and Meg had been touched that Fraser's dog wanted to protect her. Fraser often frowned on Diefenbaker being fed treats, but Meg figured what Fraser didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Cold on the outside but warm on the inside, Meg hung up her jacket and approached her desk. It was time to get to work.

XXX

The Consulate was quiet as Ray entered. There was no one in the foyer, and the Inspector's door was tightly closed. He frowned, wondering where Turnbull was.

“Anybody home?” he called out loudly. The building echoed around him as if the place were empty. Still, the door had been unlocked. Fraser might not believe in locking the door, but Thatcher was more practical and realistic.

“In my office, Ray,” came the answer.

Ray had been in a very good mood all morning, but he found it evaporating as he made his way to Fraser's office.

He found Fraser's door open and Fraser at his desk working. Diefenbaker was sleeping on a blanket on the floor, so comfortable that all four legs were sticking up in the air.

Fraser glanced up. “Good morning, Ray.”

“Mornin', Frase. Where is everyone?”

“Turnbull has the day off today, and the Inspector is away at a meeting.”

Ray felt his mood sink lower. “Oh. Does that mean you're stuck here all day?”

“I'm only scheduled until the Inspector returns,” Fraser glanced at his watch, “in exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. You may wait, if you like.”

“An hour and fifteen minutes?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know, Frase. That's a lot of doing nothin'.”

“You can get a snack or a cup of coffee in the kitchen, if you wish.”

“Yeah, thanks. Maybe I will.”

Ray wandered back into the hallway, but instead of heading towards the kitchen, he went back to the foyer. He was intent on going outside to check the mail, but he stopped when he noticed it was sitting on Turnbull's desk. After a glance towards Fraser's office, he went over and quickly checked the envelopes. His newest note wasn't among them. The Inspector had already received it.

He was surprised at the sudden disappointment he felt. His mind went back to that brief instant a week before. He could see her face flush and that sweet smile so clearly. Sudden self-knowledge made him admit that this was the reaction he had been hoping to see. He had lied to himself by telling himself this was all part of the joke and that he had wanted to see if he could annoy her by sending her another note. Deep inside, he knew that wasn't it at all. The truth was that he had enjoyed seeing her face light up with delight. It had made him happy to see her happy.

He frowned and made his way towards the kitchen as he mulled over his discovery. He started searching through cupboards, wondering if her reaction to his second note had been anything like her reaction to the first one. Had she smiled? Did her eyes light up and crinkle at the corners? He wished there was a way he could know.

There was a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. Fraser must have made it, even though he didn't drink it himself. Fraser always insisted the Mountie motto was, “Maintain the drought” or something, and TV claimed it was “Always get your man,” but Ray was convinced it was “Always be prepared.” Fraser seemed to always have just what he needed at the exact moment he needed it.

Ray poured himself a cup and sat down with some no-salt chips he had found. There was something left over in the fridge that looked like one of Turnbull's concoctions, but he didn't want to risk it. Knowing Turnbull, it could be anything.

Thinking of Turnbull in the kitchen, wearing his apron and brandishing his wooden spoon, made Ray smile. Ren was goofy, but it was one of the reasons Ray liked him so much.

The door to the kitchen opened and Ray turned, expecting to see Fraser. Instead, the Ice Queen bustled in, snow dusting her hair and brown jacket. She was wearing gloves and her jacket was buttoned up, but she still looked half frozen. Amusement went through Ray. A frozen Ice Queen.

Her eyes widened briefly as she saw Ray. “Good morning, Detective.”

“Mornin', Inspector,” he said cheerily. “When did it start snowing?”

“Just a few minutes ago. It waited until I had to go outside, of course.”

“Let me get you some coffee.” Ray had no idea what had him up and at the coffee pot, but he was guessing it was more of Fraser's bad influence.

“Thank you.” The surprise was plain in both her voice and on her face.

By the time he had her coffee poured, she had taken off both her jacket, which she hung over the back of her chair, and her gloves. Her long fingers were running through her hair, scattering droplets of water to the floor.

“Black?” he asked, bringing her mug to the table.

“Yes, please,” she said as she sat down, conversationally adding, “I've had just about enough snow for this winter.”

“Yeah, me too,” he told her, passing her her coffee.

She smiled at him, not the fake one he'd seen her use sometimes in her administrative duties, but a real one that reached her eyes. He couldn't help but smile back as he flopped into his seat.

“You look cold,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“The temperature has dropped quite a bit. I couldn't wait to get inside and get a cup of coffee.” She took a sip and sighed contentedly.

Ray studied her, thinking there was something different about her. She seemed almost open and relaxed. He wondered if it had anything to do with his note. He hoped it did.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.”

Her eyes were a color between hazel and brown, dark and pretty with golden flecks. He had never noticed that before.

They were silent for a few minutes and Ray continued to study her. If he were going to write another note, he wondered what he'd write. He also wondered if he'd be able to catch her reading it.

“You're in a good mood today,” he ventured.

She raised one elegant eyebrow at him. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said.”

Her mouth quirked in response, and she replied, “I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?”

“That's not what I meant. Never mind.”

She waved this away. “I actually am in high spirits this morning. Despite a tedious meeting at the Chilean Consulate, I'm having a very good day.” Then, she winced. “Please don't ruin it.”

He almost dropped his coffee, which was on its way to his lips. “Me?”

“You've come to kidnap Fraser, haven't you?”

“He needs a break from this place.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her own coffee. His answer didn't seem to annoy her, though.

“A break from me, you mean.” There was a touch of amusement in her voice.

“I didn't say that.”

“Of course not. Just try not to get in any trouble, Detective. That's all I ask. Or, if you do get into trouble, please don't tell me about it.” Amusement made her eyes sparkle, just for an instant.

“Sir, you're back.”

Both Ray and the Ice Queen looked towards the door. Fraser was standing there with a mildly surprised expression. Ray figured it was probably because neither of them were dead yet, despite being alone together for at least ten minutes.

“The meeting got over early, so I came right back,” the Inspector told him, taking another sip of her coffee. “The weather's starting to turn nasty.” She glanced at Ray. “Do be careful, Detective. I'd like my Constable back undamaged.”

“Righty-o,” he answered, getting to his feet. “You ready, Frase?”

“If it's all right with Inspector Thatcher.”

“Go ahead, Fraser. I'm in for the rest of the day.”

As Ray left the kitchen, he found his good mood had returned. He wasn't sure if it was his letter that had caused the Inspector to drop her walls a little, but he had a strong feeling that it had a hand in it. If that were true, then he had made her feel good. The thought made him smile. He liked that he could make her happy with just a few well-chosen words.

Maybe he should do it again.

XXX

Meg sipped her coffee as she watched Fraser leave the kitchen with the detective now known as Ray Vecchio. The liquid was hot and warmed her from the inside. She was starting to feel her hands and feet again, but she wasn't too happy with the occasional trickle of ice cold water that dripped down her cheeks and her neck.

It had been nice of the Detective to get her coffee. She admitted to herself that the gesture had surprised her more than a little. Ray...She always thought of him as Ray, though, unlike Fraser and Turnbull, she felt uncomfortable calling him this out loud...Ray normally either teased her or ignored her, and it was strange to have him do something nice for her. She had seen him perform little kind gestures for other women, but that thoughtfulness rarely extended to the Ice Queen.

She must have looked frozen coming in. Her mouth quirked at the thought. A frozen Ice Queen.

Whatever made him do it, she was grateful. Maybe she should have thanked him again so he'd know how much she'd appreciated it.

Then again, he might have fallen out of his chair.

The thought and the accompanying mental image was enough to make her chuckle.

For some reason, the detective had amused her today and even comments that would normally annoy her had just amused her more. She knew that had to do with the mood she was in. She liked the smart ass detective, but he definitely knew how to push her buttons. Most of the time, he did it deliberately.

Getting up early, a thoroughly boring meeting, a dusting of snow, and a visit with Ray had done nothing to dull the good mood she'd been in since she'd arrived at the Consulate that morning. She knew the reason why was the object currently lying hidden in her desk drawer.

Meg finished her coffee, wondering for the millionth time who had sent her that simple note. Her mind traveled to Fraser, and she wondered if she could subtly probe him for answers without him knowing. If he were the sender, maybe he'd let something slip.

At least she could firmly cross out Turnbull. She had heard him talking to Miss Vecchio—Francesca, Meg corrected herself, still surprised the two of them were apparently becoming friends—and he was definitely smitten. The little protective part of her that she liked to keep hidden felt gratified that Francesca seemed to be almost as crazy about him.

As Meg got up to rinse her mug in the sink, she pushed the mystery of her secret admirer from her mind. More urgent and boring matters need to be taken care of before the end of the day.

XXX

As Ray drove Fraser towards the 27th, he realized that he had made up his mind. He was going to continue sending notes to Thatcher. Outside, the softly falling snow was almost mesmerizing, and he had to keep blinking to try and keep his focus as his mind chewed over his decision.

The why was quite simple. It made him feel good, and it made her feel good. There was no harm in wanting to make both of them happy. After all, she never needed to know that the notes were coming from him. She could enjoy her secret admirer without ever knowing who he was, and Ray could enjoy the happiness it brought to her face.

His only problem now was what to say. He didn't know the Ice Queen very well and mostly all he saw were her professional and her sarcastic sides. He was starting to see that there was a lot more to her than that. Honesty would be hard unless he got to know her better, and the only way he knew to do that was to start spending more time with her.

Already, today, he had discovered the color of her eyes and that she had nice hands. He supposed that either of those things could be put in his next note. Still, he'd like to think about it more. He wanted it to be perfect.

Since his last two notes had been on Mondays, he figured he had a week to think of something real and something she would really like.

“Car, Ray.” Fraser's voice was strained, and it pulled Ray out of his thoughts and forced his attention to the road to avoid the swerving oncoming car.

He pushed the Ice Queen to the back of his mind, but she didn't leave it. She hovered there, waiting for him to be ready to study her again.

XXX

By the time Ray brought Fraser home late that afternoon, the snow was falling so thick and heavy that it was hard to see. They passed several accidents, and it took even longer to get to the Consulate because Fraser wanted to help at all of them.

Even though it was after five, the Inspector's car was still in front of the building, covered in snow. Instead of going directly inside, Fraser insisted on first cleaning off the vehicle. Ray shook his head, thinking she was more than capable of doing that herself.

It took Fraser so long to clean off the Ice Queen's car that Ray was tempted to leave, even though the two of them were supposed to watch a curling match Turnbull had taped for them. The snow was cold and his ears and nose were freezing. He blew on his hands impatiently as he waited.

“Geez, Frase, it took you long enough,” Ray grumped when his friend finally finished and they went up the Consulate steps.

“It never hurts to be courteous.”

“Tell that to my frozen toes.”

As they entered the building, Fraser continued, “The storm is getting quite bad, Ray. Maybe you should take the Inspector home.”

“Take her home? She's from Canada. She probably drives better in the snow than I do.”

“Her house is right on your way. There is no reason why you shouldn't offer to...”

“The Inspector is quite capable of getting herself home,” a stern voice interrupted him. Both men stopped to see her standing with her arms crossed. “I'm not some damsel in distress who needs to be rescued, Constable,” she continued, “I have driven in the snow before.”

She looked indignant, with eyes narrowed and a slight frown on her face.

“I wasn't gonna offer you a ride anyway,” Ray said, bristling at her tone.

“Ray!” Fraser whispered urgently.

“If you want to go out there and kill yourself, who am I to stop you?” he continued.

“Your concern for my well-being is touching,” she said sarcastically.

“Maybe I should get _you_ to drive _me_ home,” Ray suggested with a mocking grin. “Equality and all that.”

That made her eyes flash, which made Ray want to grin and poke at her again. She was stubborn, and she always tried to appear so tough. Well, he wasn't going to let her get away with it.

“Actually,” Fraser put in, stopping any comments from either side, “both of you should probably stay here tonight. The roads are much too slippery for anyone to be out on.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Constable.” The Ice Queen's voice turned a degree colder. “I'm sure I can manage to find my way home. In fact, I was just leaving.”

She turned and went to her office, presumably to get her things. Ray watched her, more than a little bemused. Just that morning, he had been thinking about the softer sides of Meg Thatcher, but now he'd run smack dab into the side of her that made him label her the Ice Queen.

He wondered if, “Sometimes you are so stubborn you make me want to scream,” would be appropriate for a secret admirer letter.

XXX

When Ray arrived at the Consulate early the next afternoon, he was relieved to see the Inspector's Impala out front as it always was. Despite their heated words, he had worried about Thatcher making it home all right in the storm. She might drive him crazy, but he would never want anything to happen to her. He had even been tempted to call her when he got back to his own apartment, but he wasn't sure how she'd react.

Turnbull was outside when he approached the building. The tall Mountie was spreading salt on neatly shoveled steps.

“Protecting the citizens of Canada any way you can, huh?”

“Certainly, Ray,” Turnbull agreed, responding to Ray's words and not his tone.

“Keep at it, buddy,” Ray clapped him on the back before making his way through the door.

The Inspector was in the foyer, sitting at Turnbull's desk. She was reading some papers, her expression distant. There was a line between her brows, and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. It was obvious that she hadn't heard Ray enter.

Since he had the opportunity, he studied her carefully. She was wearing a dark brown suit that suited her pale skin and dark hair perfectly. It also accentuated the part of her figure Ray could see over the desk. The blouse was very modest, showing only hints of the creamy base of her throat.

He let his eyes linger there for a moment before bringing his gaze up to her face. She looked so deep in thought that he wondered what she was reading. One thing he'd noticed about her was that when she was trying to figure something out, the problem got her whole attention. Her mind studied it at different angles until the answer popped out.

Ray knew the exact moment she found the answer she was seeking. Her brow smoothed and her features turned triumphant. An instant of complete understanding and something like peace went through her eyes.

“Of course,” she murmured.

He wondered if she would study a puzzling man in the same way. Would she be all logical or would she reach out to solve her puzzle in different ways?

Ray immediately shoved this thought aside as she suddenly looked up from her papers.

“Hey, Inspector,” he said, pretending he hadn't been watching her for almost five minutes. “Fraser around?”

“Actually, he's not,” she replied. “He has stepped out on Consulate business.”

Ray frowned. “I thought he was free this afternoon.”

“Constable Fraser is running a little late today.”

“How late?”

“His duties will be complete when he returns.”

“Oh. Good.” There was a seat by Turnbull's desk and Ray flopped into it. “Nice day. Hard to believe it was stormin' yesterday, huh?”

“I suppose.” She gathered her papers and started to rise.

“You don't have to go, Inspector. I won't bug you...unless you find my incredibly sexy body too much of a distraction.”

The expression on her face hovered between anger and amusement before she rolled her eyes and said, “Hardly.”

She settled back into Turnbull's chair and started scribbling furiously in the margins of the pages in front of her. Ray was leaning his elbow on the desk and his left hand was so close to her right that they almost touched. He tilted his chair back, resisting the urge to poke her hand. Those long, elegant fingers of hers would probably grab his and break them.

He tilted his chair back a little further and it wobbled. The Inspector's eyes rose from her work to give him a pointed glare.

“Do you have to do that?”

“Sorry.” He set the chair back on all fours. After all, he had promised to be good. “What are you doin'?”

“What does it look like I'm doing? I'm working, as you should be.”

“What are you working on?”

“Detective!” she snapped, annoyed, but she didn't get up and walk away.

“Just askin'.”

“Is this what you consider not bugging me?”

“Maybe you need a break.”

“What I need is to get this done. If you insist on sitting with me, please do so quietly.”

“Okay. Okay.”

She turned back to her paperwork and Ray started tapping his fingers on the desk. His hand was still less than half an inch from hers. If he moved it slightly, he could tap on the back of her hand. He was tempted.

“Ray!”

He jumped, startled as much by her use of his first name as he was by the tone in her voice. When he did, his skin brushed hers, which was very soft.

“Is it possible for you to sit still?” she continued.

Ray was saved from answering by Fraser's arrival. He jumped to his feet so fast his chair slid a little.

“Gotta go, Inspector,” he said. “Thanks for keepin' me company.”

She just gave him an exasperated look.

“The specifications for the invitations have been dropped off at the printer's, sir,” Fraser told her after a puzzled glance at Ray.

The Ice Queen's face smoothed, and she said, “Fine. I'll be in my office. See that I'm not disturbed.”

“All right, sir.”

As she grabbed her papers and stood, Ray commented, “It was my sexy body, wasn't it?”

The glare she gave him could have frozen the sun. He kind of liked it.

He watched her gracefully, and just a little disdainfully, turn from them and head towards her office. Ray watched this with interest, noting that the suit accentuated her bottom half as much as it did her top half.

“What happened, Ray?”

Ray gave his friend an innocent look. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

XXX

On Wednesday morning, Ben was ironing his shirts when the Inspector entered his office. She was already wearing her winter jacket and gloves, and a scarf was tied snugly around her neck.

“Are you almost ready, Constable?” she asked.

“Yes, sir,” he said, setting up his iron and unplugging it. “I was just waiting for you.”

When he turned, she was looking at him strangely, but the expression disappeared when she noticed his eyes on her.

He expected her to say something about ironing on Consulate time, but instead she said, “Do you know if the mail has arrived?”

He had no idea why she was asking him about the mail. Its collection and distribution were part of Turnbull's duties.

“I don't know, ma'am. I can ask Constable Turnbull if you like.”

“No, that won't be necessary.” Her gaze went to his eyes, and she asked, “Then, you wouldn't know if there was anything unusual present today?”

He ran a thumb over his eyebrow. “Unusual?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip for a moment before continuing. “I've heard that there has been some pranking...with the mail...going on in this neighborhood.”

“Pranks involving the mail, sir?”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid from his. “Has Turnbull mentioned anything?”

“No, sir.”

“You will tell me if he does so?”

“Of course.” Why would Turnbull tell him and not the Inspector herself?

“Good.” She nodded. “Shall we?”

“Yes, sir. Let me just put on my tunic.”

XXX

Ray was sitting on the couch in Welsh's office, chewing on a toothpick and waiting for the Canadians to show up. He was also watching his lieutenant shove down a huge deli sandwich. He couldn't believe anyone could open his mouth that wide. It was no wonder the man's desktop was always covered with bottles of antacids.

The door clicked and drew Ray's attention away from his boss. The Ice Queen came through first, all bundled up for the cold. Fraser, who had been holding the door, followed closely, his only concession to the weather his long black jacket.

“Inspector, Constable, thank you for joining us,” Welsh said. “Have a seat.”

Fraser settled beside Ray on the couch while the Inspector slowly began disrobing. She unwound the scarf from her neck and carefully pulled the gloves off her hands, putting them both in one of the chairs in front of Welsh's desk. Then, she unbuttoned her jacket and slung it over the back.

When she started on the buttons of her suit jacket, Ray said, “You wanna hurry up here? Some of us have work to do.”

That earned him a glare as her fingers sped up. He could practically hear the buttons pop as she moved. Without a word, she slipped off the blazer and placed it over her coat.

Finally, before sitting down in the empty chair, she said, “You could try being a little more polite, Detective.”

“What?” he said, using the same fake innocent voice he had used on Fraser the day before. “You wanted me to help you with the buttons? You should've said somethin'.”

The Inspector's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out, so she closed it, and her face reddened.

“What are you, Ray, five?” Welsh asked harshly. “Am I going to have to get you to apologize to the Inspector?”

The Ice Queen's reaction had been fun, being scolded by his lieutenant in front of his friends was not. He frowned darkly.

“It's all right, Lieutenant,” the Ice Queen replied, finding her voice. “I've become accustomed to the Detective's juvenile behavior.”

Her eyes were still on Ray, and he met hers without flinching.

“Well, then, if we're all friends again, can we get this meeting started? I want to finish in time for lunch.”

Ray's attention went from the Ice Queen to his boss in disbelief. Lieutenant Welsh still had his sandwich in his hands.

“There's nothing I'd like more than to get out of here,” Thatcher said, crossing her legs and leaning back.

Ray's eyes traveled to her newly exposed knees, then down her calves to her ankles. He was following the same path back when he felt Fraser's gaze on him. Since he couldn't protest that he was studying her legs to see if they were good enough to put in his next note—which they definitely were, his brain supplied—he just glanced at his friend and shrugged.

Neither the Inspector nor the Lieutenant seemed to have noticed the exchange. They had already started talking about budgets and bottom lines and liaison timetables.

Ray only halfway listened as the talk focused on what the Canadian Consulate was willing to pay for. It was more interesting to watch Thatcher negotiate. She leaned slightly forward, and her keen eyes narrowed. For every one of Welsh's comments or protests, she had a ready answer. Though her face didn't show it, Ray got the impression that she was enjoying herself.

“All right, Inspector. You win,” Welsh capitulated, putting up his now sandwich-free hands. “One of these days, you're going to have me agreeing to pay _you_ restitution for damages instead of the injured parties.” Then, he looked at Ray. “Stop breaking stuff.”

“I apologize, Lieutenant,” Fraser said. “We will try to be more careful in the future.”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed.

Thatcher threw him an incredulous look, so he shrugged.

“Don't mean we'll succeed,” he continued.

“Believe me, I don't expect you to,” she said shortly before turning back to Welsh. “On the matter of the Prime Minister's visit to Chicago in June, will you be willing to supply competent officers for his security detail?”

“Sure. It's part of our policy of cooperation and communication.”

“I did say competent, Lieutenant,” she reminded him. “I'd prefer not to have Huey and Dewey as part of the detail.”

Welsh bristled. “All of my officers are competent.”

“Need I remind you of what happened with Tracy Jenkins a couple of months ago? Did they not hold writing a song as a higher priority over actually protecting her?” Her voice was calm and flat.

Instead of protesting, Welsh deflated. “What about Vecchio? He okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she told him matter-of-factly. “He's fine.”

Ray blinked. That sounded almost like a compliment.

“Did you hear that, Fraser? I'm competent.”

“Don't push it, Detective.” She didn't even look at him.

“I'll send a list of officers I would recommend,” Welsh told her. “You can suggest another couple from those.”

“All right. Fraser and I will also be included in the detail.”

This statement surprised Ray. It wasn't very often that the Inspector came out from behind her desk. Still, he thought it would be interesting to see her in action.

His eyes ran over her face, and he wondered what she would look like facing down a suspect. Would she use that glare she often used on Ray? If so, the suspect wouldn't have a chance.

“That's all I needed to discuss,” she was saying. “Was there anything you needed?”

“No,” Welsh told her. “I'm good.”

She nodded and stood.

Ray winked at her. “You know, the offer's still open to help with those buttons.”

He had the satisfaction of shocking Fraser. His friend made a slightly strangled sound. The Ice Queen, however, didn't blush this time.

She looked at him levelly and replied, “Thank you, Detective. I'm perfectly capable of dressing and undressing myself. If I do need any assistance in that area, I will definitely let you know.”

Ray's mouth fell open, and his toothpick dropped into his lap. He saw a look of triumph in her eyes as she turned to remove her suit jacket from the back of the chair.

He wanted to tease her by telling her that he'd be happy to help, and all she had to do was call, but his mouth wouldn't work. Most of that was because of the wicked picture she had planted in his mind.

He'd get her back for that one, he decided. He didn't know how yet, but he would.

XXX

As Meg Thatcher drove back to the Canadian Consulate, she kept sneaking glances at the Constable sitting beside her. She thought about her earlier efforts to try to get him to show some reaction to the mention of mail or unusual items that could have shown up in their mailbox. She had been as subtle as she could, and she didn't think she had done more than puzzle him with the conversation.

That meant, she supposed, that Fraser was not the one sending her anonymous admiring notes. Still, she decided to keep an eye on him because Fraser could hide his thoughts and feelings better than anyone she knew—including herself.

She glanced at him again and caught him glancing back.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Fraser?”

“About Ray...”

Annoying, aggravating, infuriating man. “What about him?”

“I hope his teasing didn't upset you, sir...”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

“...or make you uncomfortable.”

Meg knew why Fraser was asking this, and she thought it was sweet.

“I'm fine, Fraser.”

He searched her face and nodded. “Understood.”

Fraser's words brought Meg's interaction with Ray to her mind. She fought off a smile as she remembered the look on his face when she had teased him back. Often, interaction with the Detective left her either annoyed or amused. Today, it was definitely amused.

The next time they met, she would probably want to punch him in the face.

XXX

Ray awoke abruptly, his breathing harsh and uneven. He lay perfectly still as he became used to the knowledge that he was alone. The memory of silky skin and soft hair tingled on fingertips that had never really felt them. The taste of her lingered in his mouth, and he imagined that her sweet scent lingered in the air.

That had been some dream, he admitted to himself as his breathing slowed and his body cooled. It wasn't the first time he had dreamed of Meg Thatcher, but it was the most intense dream he'd had in a long time.

It had been so real. Her lips trailing kisses down his neck and across his chest...her little moans and sighs...her hair tickling as it softly brushed his cheek...

He could still feel her slender hands on his skin and hear the desperate way she whispered his name.

He was going to need a cold shower.

As he forced himself out of bed, he tried to forget the way her tongue burned as it traced across his stomach, branding him with her fire. There had been no Ice Queen in her eyes as they silently begged him to touch her everywhere.

He took a deep breath as he rooted around in his dresser for some clean clothes. It was still dark, but he knew he'd never get back to sleep and, if he did make the attempt, he knew all he'd really do was lay there savoring the sensations and the pictures lingering in his mind.

Like the one that flashed through his mind now. It was so sharp and clear that he almost dropped his socks. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him.

Sweaty bodies...sweet moans and groans... a gasp...her trembling on the edge...

His voice. “ _My_ Ice Queen. Mine. Say it.”

Hers. Breathless. Shaky. Beautiful. “Your Ice Queen. Always.”

He swallowed hard. No, not an Ice Queen at all. Soft. Warm. Passionate. All curves and skin and big dark eyes you could drown in.

God, how was he going to be able to face her after _that_?

XXX

Ray came running up to Fraser, who was holding down the suspect they had been chasing through the city for the last hour and a half. The suspect struggled violently, but Fraser was stronger. His face showed strain but, other than that, he looked calm.

Ray was breathing hard, so he silently handed over his cuffs.

“Thank you kindly, Ray,” Fraser said, his strain showing in his voice.

Ray could only nod as he bent over with his hands on his knees. He took several deep breaths, trying to get his lungs to stop burning and his ribs to stop hurting.

Once Fraser had the guy in handcuffs, he fought his way to his feet, bringing the still wriggling suspect with him. His eyes went to Ray expectantly, and Ray reluctantly straightened.

“You...have the right...to remain...silent...” He slowly went through the suspect's Miranda rights, trying not to gasp throughout the words in an unmanly manner. Fraser didn't even look winded.

The suspect tried to spit on him. With a scowl, Ray jumped out of the way and resisted an urge to kick him in the head.

“Put him in the car, Fraser.”

“Come on, Mr. Vicey. It's time to go.”

The three of them turned and stopped. Ray winced as his eyes took in shattered windows, several smashed cars—one of them was even on fire—and a spattering of ladies' hats lying out in the street. The storekeeper was out front, cursing in what sounded like Russian and trying to rescue his wares from any more damage.

“Oh, crap,” Ray said quietly, running a hand over his forehead. “Crap, crap, crap, crap. The Ice Queen is going to kill us.”

“Nonsense, Ray. She is a completely reasonable...” Ray just gave him a steady look. “Okay, I admit, we may be in a bit of trouble.”

“A bit of trouble?” he asked in disbelief, wondering if Fraser was seeing the same destruction he was. “No, Fraser. She is going to _kill_ us.”

“I highly doubt she will resort to violence.”

Ray waved a hand towards the mess. A piece of glass fell from one of the windows and shattered on the sidewalk to emphasize his point. “Do you remember what she said the last time she had to foot the bill for this kind of damage?”

“Well, yes.”

“What was it, Fraser? What did she say?”

Fraser paled but only replied, “Oh, dear.”

“That's what I'm sayin'.”

As they trudged back towards the GTO, thankfully undamaged, Ray wondered if it were too late to get transferred to Alaska.

XXX

Meg was reading through some new policies when her inside line beeped. The policies were obtuse and worded in such a way that ambiguity would have been an improvement.

She growled to herself as she grabbed the phone and asked sternly, “Yes, Turnbull?”

“There's a phone call for you, sir.” Turnbull's voice was just a little too cheerful. It grated on Meg's frayed nerves.

“Who is it?”

“Francesca Vecchio.” His voice warmed even more.

“Francesca Vecchio?” Meg had heard from Francesca twice since her dinner at the Vecchio's home a little over a week before. The first time, the two of them had gone to lunch, finding more to talk about than either woman would have expected. The second had been when Francesca called to schedule Meg's monthly meeting with Lieutenant Welsh.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I'll take the call,” she said, deciding she could really use a break. Then, she pushed another button and continued, “Hello, Francesca.”

“Meg?” Francesca sounded slightly breathless.

“Yes, it's Meg.”

The woman on the other end sighed. “I was afraid you'd be gone. Listen, I need your help.”

Meg frowned. “Help with what?”

Her pause was so long that Meg thought she wasn't going to answer. When she did, it came out in a wild gush. “Fraser brought me this invitation today. Well, he brought one for all of us...I mean the us that work with you guys...Anyway, I got this invitation. To a ball. A beautiful, classy, princessy kind of invitation. I've never been to a ball, you know. It's like a fairytale! And Ren already asked me to 'be his date'. Just like that. Like I was a lady or a queen or something, so, of course, I said yes. When a Mountie asks you out, you don't say no. It's going to be perfect...I want it to be perfect, but...”

Her words stopped abruptly, so Meg prodded, “But what?”

“I've never been to a ball before.”

“So you've mentioned.”

“You have.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes, I have.”

“Well, what do I...what do I wear? I don't want to embarrass myself...or Ren. I'd just die. What kind of dress should I buy? I don't have a lot of money, and I want to look classy. Can you help?”

“You want me to help you pick out your dress?” Meg asked incredulously.

“Would you?”

“Are you sure you want my help?” Their tastes were not even close to alike.

“You always look classy,” she said simply.

Meg blinked at the unexpected compliment. “If you're sure, I'd be glad to help. Will you be free on Monday evening?”

“Yeah. I should be.”

Meg smiled, though Francesca couldn't see it. “Then, let's pick out our dresses together. I have no idea what I'm going to wear either.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

“Meet me here at the Consulate after work,” she said, thinking, _Just call me Fairy Godmother._

“Will do. See ya then.”

“Good-bye, Francesca.”

Meg hung up the phone feeling a lot better than she had before she picked it up.

XXX

“Maybe she won't be that mad,” Ray said hopefully as he, Fraser, and Dief walked into the Consulate.

The three of them had just come from Welsh's office, where he had yelled at them for their morning's activities. He then told them to report in to the Consulate because the Inspector wanted to speak to them too.

Turnbull looked up at their approach, his face white and his eyes large. Without speaking to them, he picked up the phone and said, “Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio have arrived, sir.”

When he hung up the phone, Ray asked quietly, “Mad?”

Turnbull nodded silently and dropped his eyes to his desk. Ray fought the urge to run, telling himself that he was not a Constable under the Inspector's command. What could she do to him? Shoot him?

The Ice Queen's door opened, and she stood there glaring at them. “May I see the two of you in my office, please?”

“Certainly, sir,” Fraser replied, his tone revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Ray followed Fraser inside, brushing past the Ice Queen, who refused to move from the doorway. Her face and eyes were stormy, and her lips were pressed tightly together. Ray couldn't help but notice how good she smelled as his arm accidentally bumped hers.

“I received two phone calls this afternoon. One was from Lieutenant Welsh, warning me about an unpleasant incident that I might have to partially pay for, and the other was from a livid Russian gentleman, demanding to know why a red coated Canadian had smashed up his store and wanting to know what I was going to do about it. As you may recall, calls of this nature make me very unhappy.”

She slammed the door loudly and whirled to face them. Oh, yeah. She was angry.

Her voice was full of fire as she asked, “Don't the two of you ever think before you act?”

“It's not that simple, ma'am.” Fraser's voice was calm and even.

She didn't shout, but her body was shaking with anger. “Don't try to placate me, Fraser. What was going through your, for want of a better word, minds?”

Ray studied her carefully, noting the way her eyes were flashing. Her face was slightly flushed, and she looked as if she would throttle Fraser any minute. It was a good look for her, he decided.

He supposed he should have been more concerned with what she was saying, but Fraser seemed willing to take responsibility for their side of the conversation. Fraser explained extensively about the criminal and their wild chase through the streets of Chicago. He was so thorough that Ray found his thoughts wandering.

As Thatcher watched Fraser, Ray watched her, and memories of his dream came to his mind. Her skin had been so soft and warm, not as if she were made of ice at all. Her body had responded to his touch, and he remembered how it had shivered when his lips caressed her neck.

As he thought this, his eyes slid down her face to the hollow at the base of her throat. He idly wondered what it really tasted like, and if it would taste as good as it had in his dream. Would kisses given to the real Meg Thatcher produce the same sounds of pleasure?

Suddenly, he knew what his third note would say. A smile spread over his face as he thought about her reaction.

“Do you find something amusing about this situation, Detective?” she asked, cutting Fraser off in the middle of his explanation. The anger had gone from her voice. It was calm and cold, but the heat was still in her eyes.

He toyed with the thought of embarrassing her with what he'd been thinking because her reaction might be amusing, but he knew he'd never really be able to do it.

“Me and Fraser ain't kids,” he said instead.

“Then why do you continually act like it?”

“We'll try to be more careful in the future, ma'am,” Fraser told her.

“You always say that, Fraser. One of these times, I'd like you to actually do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do I want to hear the rest of this story? Is it going to make me any less angry?”

“Probably not.” Ray cut off Fraser's next comment.

She ran a hand over her forehead, all at once looking more tired than angry. “Then the two of you are dismissed.”

Fraser nodded silently, and Ray said, “Okay. See ya, Inspector.”

She gave Ray a hard look before rolling her eyes and turning to her desk. As he and Fraser left the office, Ray couldn't help but think that the two of them had gotten off a lot better than he had been afraid they would.

XXX

Meg felt a little sad as she sat at her desk with the new regulations in her hands. It was Monday morning and, when she had arrived for work, the mailbox had been empty. She knew it was silly to let something like that bother her, but she had awakened with a smile on her face at the thought of receiving another note.

Maybe two was her admirer's limit. Maybe he couldn't find anything else nice to say about her. Maybe she should walk right into Turnbull's kitchen and put her head in the oven for acting like a fifteen year old girl.

She grimaced and tried to study the stupid new regulations. She had no idea how she was going to explain them to her staff when they were worded in such a way as to make it seem they were supposed to be doing something and not doing it at the same time.

With a sigh, she gave up and set them aside. She'd have to call Ottawa later and ask for clarification. She hated doing that. It always made her feel slightly incompetent.

Her eyes glanced at the clock and she noticed it was a little after eleven. Her stomach did a funny turn as she realized it was time for the mail. Maybe her admirer had mixed a note in with the regular mail, as he had the first time. She tried to stamp down the hopeful thought and get back to work, but the thought refused to be stomped.

Feeling foolish, she got up and went out into the foyer. She found Ray and Turnbull deep in conversation, but there was no sign of Fraser or Diefenbaker.

“Hello, Detective. Are you distracting my Constable again?”

He had been sitting on Turnbull's desk, completely relaxed and chewing on a toothpick. At her voice, he jumped up and straightened.

“Hey, Inspector.”

Slightly amused, she told him, “At ease.”

He flashed her a smile and settled back against the desk with his arms crossed. In that pose, she thought he looked a little like James Dean.

“I apologize, sir,” Turnbull was saying. “It was my fault for being distracted.”

“It's all right, Turnbull. Has the mail come yet?”

“I haven't checked, sir.”

“I can do it,” Ray offered.

Turnbull started to get up, but Meg waved a hand at him. “That would be nice, Detective.”

“Greatness. Fraser's shower seems to be taking forever,” he said in explanation for his offer.

The man never seemed to be able to sit still for more than a few minutes, she thought as he popped off of Turnbull's desk and headed to the door. She watched him for a second, telling herself she wasn't, before turning back to Turnbull.

“I have to make an important call to Ottawa this afternoon to talk about new regulations and to confirm the date for next week's inspection. Hold all my calls at least until three.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door reopened and Meg's gaze went directly to Ray's hands. They held several envelopes, one of them a large 8 1/2 by 11, but the one Meg was most interested in was the pink one at the top. She fought a smile and the tingly feeling that stole over her at the sight. Trying to keep her face impassive, she refused to even allow herself to meet Ray at the door.

“Mail call,” Ray announced, waving his hand full of envelopes.

Meg waited impatiently as he slowly sauntered over to her. She wanted to snatch the mail from him, but instead she held out her hand and waited for him to gently place the letters in it.

“Thank you, Detective.” Some of her smile leaked through. She knew he noticed when he smiled back warmly.

“You're welcome, Inspector.”

She nodded, then glanced at Turnbull. “Remember what I said about after lunch. No calls from one to three.”

“Yes, sir.”

Meg headed for her office, slowly and gracefully, though she wanted to hurry. Curiosity burned at her as she wondered what was in the newest note.

When she finally got to her office, she firmly closed the door behind her and dropped everything on the desk but the pink envelope. She hesitated before opening it, enjoying the anticipation for just a few seconds longer.

The logical, Inspector side of her was scolding her for her excitement, but the Meg side of her refused to listen.

Gently, she opened the envelope, being careful not to rip the flap. She took out the folded piece of paper and read:

  
_“Sometimes I wonder what the skin at the base of your throat tastes like.  
Love your secret admirer”_   


XXX

As Ray left the Consulate with Fraser and Dief, he couldn't believe how lucky he'd been.

He had set his alarm to go off at five, as he had the two Mondays before, but this time he had shut it off and gone back to sleep. He blamed this on a late night with Maria's oldest son, helping him with a school assignment to interview a relative. Of course, the boy had saved it for the last minute, and he refused to interview anyone but “Uncle Ray”. Ray had been too touched to argue. He had fallen in love with the Vecchio family, and he knew when the real Ray Vecchio returned he wasn't going to want to give them back.

Since this had led to him oversleeping, he didn't get a chance to put his note in the mailbox without being noticed. He had actually been wondering what he was going to do when the Ice Queen herself had given him the opportunity. It was almost as if the fates wanted her to get the note.

Thinking this, his mind went to the look on her face when he had come inside with the note in his hands. She had been trying to hide her excitement when she saw it, but her whole face lit up. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and a smile hovered around the corners of her mouth. It had been all he could do not to stare as he put the mail in her waiting hand.

She should look like that all the time, he thought as he opened his car door to slip inside. It made her seem a lot more touchable. Desirable too, he had to admit.

Continuing the notes had been a good idea, and he couldn't wait to give her the next one.

XXX

Francesca looked excited as she flounced into Meg's office, not even bothering to knock. She was grinning from ear to ear, and her eyes were wide.

“Are you ready?” she asked without a greeting.

Meg had been concentrating so hard on budget reports that she hadn't even realized it was past five. She gratefully put down her pen and stood. Her body protested gently about getting up after being in the same position for too long, but she was used to that.

“Sure. Just let me get my coat.”

She grabbed the coat and made her way around the desk. She was about to put it on when she noticed Francesca's eyes were focused on something on the desk. A glance showed her that it was the pink envelope she had forgotten to put away.

Quickly, Meg reached out to snatch it, but Francesca was quicker. She picked it up just before Meg touched it, her face alight with curiosity.

Meg frowned at her. “Francesca.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to hide from me?”

Meg had told no one about the notes. Once or twice, she had considered telling Nancy but had decided against it. She was a very private person, and this was something she wanted to keep to herself. Saying it out loud might make her enjoyment seem childish and foolish, and she just wanted to hold on to the good feeling the notes gave her without any judgment or recriminations.

“It's nothing, really,” she said, forcing herself not to grab the envelope from her friend's hand.

“Nothing? You look like you've got anvils in your pants.”

This comment was enough to distract Meg from her goal. The moment she took to try and figure out what Francesca meant was enough time for her determined friend to open the flap and take out the folded paper. Meg choked back a groan.

Francesca's mouth fell open slightly as she quickly read the note in her hands. “You have a secret admirer!”

“It would appear so.” Meg slumped against the desk in defeat.

“And he wants to _taste_ you.” Francesca's eyes twinkled as Meg felt her face start to flame. “How many notes have you gotten? Is this the first?”

Meg shook her head, still blushing. “The third. They're not usually so...” She cleared her throat. “...sensual.”

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“No clue. The handwriting is unfamiliar, and I haven't been able to catch anyone in the act.”

“Have you tried?”

“Not actively, no.”

Francesca studied the note, frowning. “I know a dozen guys who write kinda like this. Don't worry, though. Now that I'm on the case, we'll find out who it is in no time.” Her frown turned into a grin. “And maybe you can do some tasting of your own.”

“Francesca!”

Meg didn't know whether to be horrified or to burst out laughing. She settled for shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“Maybe he'll be at the ball,” Francesca continued. “We'll have to find you a killer dress.”

She eyed Meg critically.

“What?”

“You've got the curves to pull it off. Let's see if we can get this admirer of yours to show himself.”

XXX

“Are you sure this doesn't show too much cleavage?” Meg asked, looking down at the beautiful dress Francesca had insisted she try on.

Francesca's eyes ran over her before she said with satisfaction, “You look hot in that dress.”

“I do?”

Meg turned in front of the mirror, admiring the dress from all angles.

It was red and made of a soft, silky fabric that kissed her skin so gently it felt practically nonexistent. The length was modest, but the top exposed her shoulders and a good part of her chest, though it still left most of her breasts to the imagination. It was racier than what she normally wore to Consulate events, but it was tasteful and hugged her curves as if it were made for her.

“Definitely.”

“I do love it,” she admitted.

“Then buy it. If you look great, you'll feel great.”

The two of them had been shopping for over two hours. They did Francesca's dress first because Meg wanted to be sure Francesca got something that was conservative but she still really liked.

She had ended up getting a long gown of a deep blue that showed off her olive skin and made her look like the princess she wanted to be for the event. They had even been able to get it on sale, even though it was still a bit pricey for Francesca. Meg had offered to help, but her friend had proudly refused.

Now, they were shopping for Meg's dress, and she had almost given up on finding one she liked when this one caught her eye. She had been reluctant to try it on, but now she was determined to buy it. Even if her secret admirer wasn't at the ball to wow, she felt sexy in that dress. She discovered that she liked the feeling.

Francesca stood outside the dressing room as Meg got back into her normal business suit.

“I want to thank you for this, Meg. I never get to shop with anyone now that my sister's so busy.”

“I had a lot of fun, Fran...” Meg paused before saying, “You know, I call you Francesca because Fraser, Turnbull, and Welsh do so, but I've heard Detective Vecchio...both of them...and even your mother call you Frannie. Which do you prefer? I hate to be called Margaret, and I hope I haven't been making you wince every time I say Francesca.”

Francesca was smiling as Meg rejoined her. “I don't mind either of them. I've been Frannie forever, but Francesca makes me feel grown up. In my family, you're still the baby when you're sixty if you're the youngest.” She frowned. “But Francesca also sounds so...you know, formal. It doesn't sound like someone you can laugh with, if you know what I mean...”

Meg smiled slightly and put a light hand on her arm. “Frannie it is then.”

XXX

“This is gonna be great,” Ray said excitedly as he, Turnbull, and Fraser were headed out of the Consulate on Wednesday. He had been looking forward to seeing _Burning Down the House_ for months.

They were supposed to have gone to the matinee—Fraser and Turnbull had even booked the afternoon off—but one of Ray's cases ended up having a breakthrough and their afternoon plans fell apart. Still, there was another showing at seven, and both Mounties had agreed to go.

Ray was already anticipating the amazing special effects and two and a half hours of stunning explosions and screaming extras.

“What did you say this was called, Ray?” Fraser asked.

“ _Burnin' Down the House_. It's about an alien invasion.”

“Of where?” Turnbull asked.

Ray stopped and frowned. “Earth, I think.”

“Ah.”

Fraser paused. “We really should tell the Inspector we're leaving.”

Ray looked at his watch. “She still here?”

“Yes.”

“I thought she was off at five.”

“She often stays late,” Turnbull explained. “The Inspector is a very busy woman.”

“More like she has nothing better to do,” Ray snorted.

He went with the other two to the Ice Queen's open door. Her head was bent over her work and she was scribbling something. She had that look of intense concentration that Ray was beginning to realize he liked on her face, and she didn't even seem to hear them approach.

“Inspector,” Fraser said, causing her to look up.

“Hmmn?”

Ray studied her face critically, noting that it was rather pale.

“It's six o'clock, ma'am.”

“It is?” She looked at her watch, much as Ray had almost five minutes earlier.

“Yes. Turnbull and I are leaving now.”

“Okay.” She waved a hand at him. “I'll see you when you get back.” She turned to her papers again.

“It will be around ten, ma'am.”

“All right.”

“There's some ratatouille in the fridge, sir, if you get hungry,” Turnbull offered.

She looked up and gave him a tired half smile. “Thank you, Turnbull.”

Ray looked at Fraser and Turnbull, then turned his attention back to the Ice Queen.

“What are you doin'?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What are you workin' on?”

“Why?”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I suppose it could, but it shouldn't. I have a responsibility...”

“Listen,” he cut her off. “We're goin' to the movies. Do you want to come?”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Did you want to come with us? It's gonna be a good one.”

“Well, I don't know, Detective. These budget reports are due by Friday at three.” He had surprised her into talking to him as if he were a real person.

He shrugged. “It's up to you.”

She bit her lip, something he noticed she did when she was unsure or thinking something over.

After a moment, she replied, “The three of you will have a much better time without the boss lady. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you won't come, sir?” Fraser asked. “You're more than welcome.”

“I am?” It sounded almost wistful.

“Sure you are, sir,” Turnbull added heartily.

Ray could tell she was wavering. “Hey, when else do you get the chance to go out with three great looking guys? I'll even buy you some popcorn.”

He saw the decision in her eyes before she put down her pen. “Let me get my coat.”

XXX

True to his word, Ray bought the Inspector some popcorn. He even sprang for a drink. She tried to argue and pay for her own, but his refusal to listen was getting her riled up, so he stayed stubborn. He even considered buying her ticket to see how far he could push her, but he figured Fraser would interfere at that point. Turnbull would just think he was being a gentleman.

On the way over, Thatcher seemed to only want to talk about work. Turnbull and Fraser had both insisted that she ride in front with Ray, so he had trouble tuning it out. When they got to the theatre, Ray told her that they were on free time now, and talking about work was not allowed. She had become much quieter after that—well, until their argument at the concession stand, anyway.

“So, what is this movie about?” she asked as she and Ray waited for Fraser and Turnbull to get their snacks.

She fished a piece of popcorn out of her small bucket and popped it in her mouth. Ray had been watching this and missed most of her question.

“Huh?”

“The movie. What is it about?”

“Aliens.”

“Aliens?”

“And robots.”

She shook her head. “You brought me to a movie about aliens and robots?”

“What's wrong with aliens and robots? I suppose you'd rather see _Love's Tender Embrace_.”

She grimaced. “Good God, no.”

His estimation of her movie tastes went up a notch. “Then what kind of movies do you like?”

“Documentaries, mostly, or biopics,” she admitted, eating another piece of popcorn. He watched her chew slowly and swallow before she continued, “Sometimes I like movies made for the art of it or smart romantic comedies, if they're well done.”

“Boring.” Even though Ray had his own popcorn, he reached over and stole one of hers. She didn't say anything about it, but it did earn him an elegantly arched eyebrow. “So, you're going to sit next to me, right, Inspector?”

“I hadn't thought about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Then Fraser and Turnbull won't be sitting next to their boss.”

Her face fell. “I shouldn't have come.”

He frowned. “That's not what I meant.”

“I'm their superior officer.”

“Only between 8:30 and five. Besides, what Ottawa doesn't know won't hurt 'em.”

“Now you sound like Frannie.”

“Frannie?” The two of them seemed to be spending quite a lot of time together. Somehow, he didn't think Chicago could take the partnership of two such strong willed women. He wondered if he should be afraid.

“She's always saying that to me.”

“It's true.”

He stole another piece of her popcorn but before he could toss it in his mouth her fingers darted out and snatched it from his.

“Eat your own,” she said, her face lighting up in amusement at the way he was gaping like a fish.

He didn't think she'd find it quite so amusing if she knew he was wondering what it would take for her to repeat the gesture with her mouth.

XXX

The movie was just as amazing as he had expected. At times, he had been slightly distracted by the woman beside him, but that had been more of a plus than a minus. She smelled good—like really good—and their arms had brushed several times by accident. She had even eaten some of his popcorn when he offered after hers had run out.

As they made their way out of the theatre, he asked excitedly, “How 'bout those special effects? That space ship flew over, I thought I was getting a brush cut.”

“That might be an improvement,” the Ice Queen answered sarcastically.

He grinned at her. “So, what'd you think?”

“I thought it was non-stop, mindless violence.”

“Everything a movie should be,” he agreed.

Turnbull put in, “Well, I for one was quite drawn to the costumes...”

“Costumes?” Thatcher interrupted him, disbelief dripping from the word.

“...and the emotional landscape painted by the acting was delicious.”

“Acting? They could have been robots.”

“They were playing robots.” Ray turned to Fraser. “What did you think?”

“Well, you know, Ray, I ...I couldn't really hear.”

“There was a huge sound, Fraser.”

“Well, exactly,” his friend said maddeningly, “and my ears are more attuned to the silence of a northern forest.”

“You're living in a city, Fraser,” Ray replied in exasperation, “C'mon, adjust.”

“I'll try.”

Ray couldn't believe that Turnbull was the only one of his friends to appreciate the sheer beauty of the movie.

“Next time we go to the movies, I get to pick,” the Ice Queen said as they went out into the cold night air. She shivered and pulled her jacket more tightly around her.

“See, I knew you had fun,” Ray said.

She just rolled her eyes at him, delighting him. He had always loved getting a reaction from her because she was normally so calm and controlled, and now that he was making an effort to get to know her better, even if she didn't know it, he liked it even more.

“What time is it anyway?” she asked Fraser tiredly, running a hand through her hair.

“10:05, ma'am.” He didn't even look at his watch.

“We'd better get back to the Consulate.”

Ray stared at her for a second. Sleepy-eyed, with her hair a little mussed, she looked surprisingly sexy. Not blatantly sexual, but subtly, quietly sexy in that first thing in the morning, let's just stay in bed forever kind of way.

The thought surprised him. That was twice in a matter of hours that he had caught himself thinking of the Ice Queen in that way. Not that the thoughts had been unpleasant—quite the opposite, really. The thing was that those thoughts were starting to pop up in his mind lately at the strangest times. He didn't know whether it was because of that hot dream he'd had the week before or because he had started watching her for ideas to put in her notes. He did know that she would probably be mad if she knew he was thinking them, so he definitely had to keep them to himself.

“Yes. I am quite tired,” Turnbull was saying.

Ray's eyes went from the Ice Queen to his friend, and he joked, “Well, it is past your bedtime.”

“Oh, no, Ray. I usually retire around eleven with a good book. Right now, I am in the middle of an intriguing tale given to me by Francesca called _Sword of Desire_.”

“I know that one!” Ray blurted.

“Yes, I remember the pool boy well,” Meg agreed dryly.

Turnbull's face scrunched in confusion. “I don't understand.”

“Just don't be surprised if things aren't what they seem.”

The three of them arrived at Ray's car, and he waited for the Mounties to scramble in before he settled in next to the Inspector in the front seat. She was already leaning tiredly against the window with her eyes closed. Ray ran his gaze quickly over her unguarded face, filing the image away for later.

As he started the car, he heard Turnbull in the back excitedly discussing the movie with Fraser, who, as Ray saw when he looked in the rear view, was listening politely.

“Homeward, ho!” he said, pulling out into traffic to bring his three favorite Canadians back to their own mother ship.

XXX

“So, what are you going to do?” Frannie asked, popping a French fry into her mouth.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” Meg frowned, trying to spear a piece of cucumber from her plate.

Even though Meg had planned on working through lunch, the two of them were sharing her desk as a table. Financial reports had been carefully laid aside for a few minutes because Frannie had arrived with food from her favorite take out place and refused to take no for an answer.

Frannie sighed heavily. “You know. About _him_.”

Meg stared at her blankly.

“You can't just do nothing. If he won't come tell you who he is, you've gotta find out on your own.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“I've got a plan.”

Meg winced. “Do I want to know what it is?”

“Of course you do!”

“Okay, so tell me.”

“I have this Monday off.”

Meg waited for Frannie to continue, but instead her friend just took a bite of her hamburger.

Finally, Meg said in exasperation, “And?”

Frannie swallowed. “And that means I can beef up the outside of the building.”

“Beef up?”

“Yeah. You know, keep an eye out for our guy.”

“Do you mean stake out, Frannie?”

Frannie waved a hand, almost sloshing pop out of the top of the cup that was in it. “Beef or pork, it's all the same.”

“I suppose so.”

“Anyway,” her friend continued, “I'm going to park my butt outside the Consulate and wait for him to show up.”

“But he seems to come at different times.”

“That's okay. I'll bring _Lover's Sweet Kiss_ with me. I've been wanting to read it for ages.”

“What if he sees you?” Meg protested again.

“I'll be careful. No one will even know I'm there.”

Meg had her doubts about that. Frannie Vecchio was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them.

“So, you're just going to sit out there for hours, reading your book and watching the mailbox?”

“Yeah. And I'm gonna steal Ray's phone so when I see him I can call you.”

“And you really think this will work?” she asked, taking another bite of her salad.

“It doesn't hurt to try, right?”

“I suppose not.”

Frannie glanced at Meg's clock and jumped to her feet. “Gotta go. Welsh'll kill me if I'm late again.”

Meg almost smiled. “Then you'd better hurry. Thanks for lunch.”

“Welcome. I'll call you later.” She started to hurry out, and Meg was packing up the rest of her lunch when she remembered something.

“Oh, and Frannie?”

“Yeah?” She turned at the door.

“Remind your lieutenant that Ray needs to be here next Thursday to meet with the guy from Internal Affairs. This is our first audit of the Deputy Liaison position, and it has to go well.”

“I will,” Frannie promised before disappearing.

Meg almost immediately turned her thoughts back to the budget reports that were due in just a few short hours. Before she did so, she admitted to herself that if anyone had a chance of catching her secret admirer in the act, it was probably Francesca Vecchio.

XXX

Meg was nearing her deadline and her reports were still not done. Going to the movies instead of working had put her further behind. Even working until midnight on Thursday and coming in at six that morning hadn't helped her to make up the time. They never gave her enough time.

When her phone rang, she tried to ignore it, even though Fraser was out buying stamps and Turnbull was upstairs vacuuming. It was insistent, though, so she had to give in.

“Inspector Thatcher,” she said with as much politeness in her voice as she could fake.

“Hey, Inspector. It's Ray.”

Just what she needed. “What do you want?”

She winced at just how harsh that sounded.

He paused before saying, “I just wanted to ask you about this meeting next week. Welsh just told me about it.”

“Oh.” She might as well talk to him. After all, she was never going to finish the reports on time anyway. “Did he give you any information?”

“Nope.”

She ran a hand tiredly over her forehead. “Ottawa is sending down someone to audit the Deputy Liaison Position...”

“Fraser?”

“In a nutshell. They want to determine whether to continue the position as a fully recognized part of Consulate activities or whether the position should become strictly volunteer again—meaning Fraser would have to work full time here at the Consulate and work with you on his own time. They want to interview you as part of the assessment. This means you must be on your very best behaviour. Do you understand?”

“I guess so.”

“Do your best to make a favorable impression, Detective, or they will take Fraser away from you. I can't put it any plainer than that.”

“I will.” At least he sounded sincere.

“Good. They are also evaluating the Consulate and my work here, but I don't think they will need you for that.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You're welcome, Detective. Now, if there's nothing else, I've really got to get back to work.”

“Those budget reports?”

She was surprised that he had remembered. “Yes.”

“Well, I'll let you get back to it. Later, Inspector.”

“Good-bye, Detective.”

XXX

Meg had the biggest headache. Except for her lunch with Frannie, the day had been a total disaster. Not only had she not finished her budget reports on time (in fact, it was eight o'clock, and she was just finishing them), she also seemed to have a case of the dropsies. She had spilled coffee on her blouse, scattered her work over the floor more than once, and knocked over a stack of books in Fraser's office. She had a run in her pantyhose and a rip in her skirt. To top it all off, she was starving because that salad at noon had been the only chance she had to eat all day.

She wanted to growl just as vocally as her stomach was doing as she rummaged around in the cupboards. Since it was so late on a Friday, Turnbull had cleaned everything but Fraser's food out of the fridge for the weekend.

“There's got to be something here to tide me over until I finish working and get home,” she mumbled to herself, wishing her Constables were heavy junk food snackers.

“Are you looking for something?”

The voice behind her made her jump and hit her head on the cupboard door. “Ow!”

“Are you all right, sir?” The concern in the voice was genuine.

“I'm fine, Fraser,” she said, turning and rubbing her head. “Just don't sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, sir.” He tilted his head just a fraction and continued, “Ray left some pudding cups in the third cupboard, if you're hungry.”

“I couldn't...”

“I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”

Her stomach rumbled and overrode any other protest she might have made. On its instruction, she reached up into the cupboard and brought down a large variety pack. Chocolate, vanilla, and butterscotch.

“Detective Vecchio sure loves his pudding, doesn't he?”

“Yes, ma'am, and his Smarties. American not Canadian.”

“I wasn't aware there was a difference,” she said absently as she tried to open the still tightly sealed box. It was just as stubborn as everything else had been on that rotten day. Finally, she gave up and silently thrust it at Fraser.

He took it without comment, and his deft fingers had it open in seconds.

“What flavor would you like, sir?”

“Butterscotch, please.” She thanked him as he gave it to her, then continued, “Were you looking for me, Fraser, or were you just coming in to make supper?”

“Oh, yes. The courier delivered a package for you earlier, sir. It's in my office.”

“A package?” she asked, looking up from where she was fighting to get the top off of her pudding cup.

“Yes, sir. You may retrieve it, if you wish. I think I will take this opportunity to eat.”

Meg grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and headed down the hallway to Fraser's tiny office. Dief looked up when she entered, but relaxed again when he saw it was just her. She stooped and patted his head on the way by, reminding herself that it had been several days since she had time to give him a treat.

The small package was on Fraser's desk. It had no return address, and it was addressed to Inspector Meg Thatcher, not Inspector Margaret Thatcher as something official would have been.

When she recognized the handwriting, she put down her pudding and started tearing into the package. At the top of the box, before bubble wrap and protective paper, was a short note: _I hope this makes you smile._

Carefully, she pushed the materials aside to find a small figurine. She took it out of the box gently because she could tell it was extremely fragile.

It was about three inches tall, with delicate wings that looked as if they would break if you touched them. The figure was female, with a woman's curves and a perfectly painted and somehow intelligent looking little face. She was dressed in white, and winter surrounded her so much that it seemed to drip from her clothes and her fingertips. Dark hair curled around her shoulders, and expressive brown eyes seemed to stare into Meg's soul. She was beautiful.

How had he known Meg was having a bad day? How had he known how badly she needed someone to do something nice for her? It was probably a coincidence but, even so, she appreciated it.

Meg gazed at the tiny fairy for at least a full minute before she carefully put it back in the box. With the day she was having, she didn't want to drop her new friend on the floor.

As she picked up her box and her pudding cup to head back to her office and finish her work, she realized that, for the first time all day, she was smiling.

XXX

Francesca Vecchio sat in her car, reading nonchalantly and glancing up every couple of seconds. She did her best to look like someone's bored wife or sister patiently waiting for them to return. She had been sitting there since 7 am.

Several good looking men had passed her. Each time one approached the Consulate, she gripped Ray's cell phone in her hand, ready to call Meg, but they all had gone by without hesitating.

Now, it was almost noon, and she was starting to get discouraged. Maybe Meg's secret admirer wasn't even going to show.

She was thinking more about the note than about her book, but she was still taken by surprise when someone knocked loudly on her window. She let out an undignified squeak and dropped her book on the floor.

She turned to see Ray peering in the window, a serious look on his face. Quickly, she rolled it down.

“Geez, Ray! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You need a heart first. Frannie, what're you doin'?”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “I'm just reading my book.”

“Here, in front of the...well, whatever this place is...instead of at home. Why's that? Lighting?”

“I just wanted to be here. Is that okay?”

“You're not watching Fraser again, are you? Cause that's creepy.”

“No, I'm not watching Fraser,” she scoffed, thinking of a plausible lie. “I'm waiting for Ren so I can take him to lunch, okay? Not that it's any of your business.”

“Is that my phone, Frannie?” he asked suddenly, a tinge of anger coming to his voice. “That's where it went? What're you doin' with my phone?”

“Uh...borrowing it?”

“Give it back. Give it back, now.” He frowned, holding out his hand, and she reluctantly gave it to him. “What happened to your phone, anyway? Why'd you take mine?”

“You don't want to know.”

“You're probably right. I'm goin' in for Fraser. Want me to tell Turnbull you're here?”

“He knows I'm coming, Ray. He'll be out when he's ready.”

A little half smile flickered over Ray's face. She wondered what that was about, and then she didn't as an interesting prospect approached the Consulate.

“Enjoy your book, Frannie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving him out of the way.

She lost interest in him as he moved away from her car, and she watched the man in the blue suit pause by the Consulate...and bend down to pick a piece of paper off the bottom of his shoe. Frannie sighed as he continued on his way. It was going to be a long day.

XXX

Frannie wasn't fooling anybody, Ray thought as he walked up the Consulate steps fighting a smirk. He knew exactly what she was doing. In fact, he had known ever since he had driven by the Consulate at eight that morning and she was sitting out front.

It had surprised him to realize that Frannie knew about his notes to the Inspector. The Ice Queen wasn't one to talk about her private life, but Frannie was Frannie and must have pried it out of her somehow. Why else would she be making his life difficult by watching every person who approached the mailbox?

It was kind of funny, though. Frannie had been there all morning looking for Thatcher's secret admirer, and he had walked right up to her, and she didn't even know it. There was no way she was going to find out he was writing the notes. No way at all.

Ray smugly banged his way into the Consulate, yelling, “Fraser!”

He stopped abruptly as three pairs of eyes turned towards him. One of the pairs of eyes belonged to the Inspector, who looked very nice in a cream colored blouse and skirt, he noticed. The other two people, he didn't know. They were a woman and a baby, maybe a year old. The mother was rather pretty, but not nearly as pretty as the Inspector, and the startled baby looked ready to cry.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, apologizing to Thatcher's guest for scaring the baby. “I didn't know anyone was here.”

“That's quite all right, Mr...” She looked at the Ice Queen.

“Vecchio. Detective Vecchio is a friend of Constable Fraser's,” the Inspector explained.

The woman smiled. “Nice to meet you. I'm Nancy, and this is Joy. I just came to drop my daughter off with Meg for a couple of hours so I can go to an appointment.”

“Meg,” the baby repeated, turning in her mother's arms to look at the Ice Queen.

“That's right, sweetheart,” Thatcher said in a soft voice that did strange things to Ray's stomach. “We're going to have some fun while Mommy is away.”

Nancy held the baby out to her, and Thatcher took Joy with an ease that surprised Ray. The baby hugged her and kissed her cheek, and a gentle, warm smile came to the Inspector's face. Then the baby looked a little warily at Ray. Her big blue eyes melted him, and he found himself moving closer.

“Hi,” he said quietly, “I'm Ray. I'm a friend of Meg's.” Joy smiled and reached out her hand, so Ray took it gently. “It's nice to meet you.”

“She likes you, Detective,” Nancy said. “Maybe you should help Meg this afternoon.”

“I assure you I can do without the detective's help,” the Inspector said in a voice more like her normal one.

Ray just snorted but continued to carefully shake the baby's hand. He made a face at her, and she laughed.

“Well, I should be going,” Nancy said, “I don't want to be late. Thanks again, Meg.”

“I'm always up for time with Joy,” Thatcher said, not even looking at her. Her eyes were only for the baby. Ray glanced at her and couldn't look away. There was that look, that smile, that he had wanted to see again so badly.

He stood there watching the Inspector with Joy until Nancy broke the spell. “Oh, before I forget, I think there's a woman out there watching the building.”

Inspector Thatcher groaned at the same time Ray laughed. Together, they said, “That would be Frannie.”

“As long as you know,” Nancy said, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Frannie...well, Frannie is Constable Turnbull's girlfriend,” Meg explained.

“She's waiting to take him to lunch,” Ray added, because that's what he was supposed to believe.

“Oh, okay.” Nancy kissed the baby. “Be good for Meg.”

“Mommommom.”

“Mom will be back.”

As Nancy left, Ray let his gaze once more wander to the Ice Queen. She was looking at the baby again.

He swallowed. “She's cute.”

“Huh?” She looked at him as if surprised to still see him there.

“The baby,” Ray explained. “She's adorable.”

“Do you like babies, Detective?” Her eyes widened.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “At one time, I wanted a whole house full.”

It made him sad to think of the chance he had missed.

“Well, I'm sure you would have made a wonderful father,” she said kindly before turning to her door.

He reached around her and opened it for her so she could bring the baby into her office.

“Thanks,” she said absently before murmuring tender endearments he could barely hear to the baby.

He mumbled a response and left to find Fraser, pushing thoughts of the gentle side of the Ice Queen from his mind.

XXX

Meg had a great afternoon with Joy. So much so, that she was disappointed when her friend came back to collect her daughter at three o'clock.

Sadly, Meg packed up the diaper bag, only half listening to what Nancy was saying about her appointment. She was just bundling Joy up for her trip home when she looked up to see Nancy looking at her strangely.

“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?” She checked the baby over quickly.

“I thought you said you had zero prospects,” her friend said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Detective Vecchio.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He's good looking. He has no ring...”

Meg sighed. “He also hates me.”

“He does, huh?”

“Yes.” She was fairly certain of this. “He calls me the Ice Queen.”

“Then maybe you should loosen up.”

Meg frowned. “And we have nothing in common.”

“But, did you look at him? I wouldn't say no...”

“Nancy!”

“If I weren't married, I mean. You have to admit he's good looking.”

“I never noticed.”

“Sure, you haven't. Meg, you're surrounded by gorgeous men. If you don't like them slim and blond, how about tall, dark, and handsome? Constable Fraser, for instance.”

“Constable Fraser...” she said firmly.

“...is off limits, I know. I just want you to be happy.

Meg was touched by this simple statement. “I appreciate that, Nancy, but do you really think all I need is a man to be happy?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, Meg. We all find our happiness in different places. Five years ago, I was where you are. Now...well, now, I've got Joy.” She took the baby from Meg, and her serious look melted into one of fun. “Besides, even if having a man isn't what you need to make you happy, you could have a lot of fun finding out.”

Meg didn't know what to say to that. She was still forming a reply when Francesca burst through the door.

“I don't know how he did it!” she exploded, waving a pink envelope in her hand. Her eyes fell on Nancy and widened. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi. You must be Frannie.”

“Yes.” It came out sounding more like a question than an answer. She glanced at Meg.

“Frannie, this is my friend, Nancy, and her daughter, Joy.”

“Oh, yeah. Meg's mentioned you. Nice to meet you.”

Nancy looked from Frannie to the letter in her hand and then back at Meg. Meg swallowed. She really didn't want to tell anyone else about the notes. It was bad enough that Frannie knew.

Still, she didn't want to lie. She often tried to tell herself that she was jaded and world-wise and cynical, but the simple truth was that lying made her extremely uncomfortable, and she made a point not to do it, even when it caused her pain or embarrassment.

“I'll tell you later,” she promised.

Nancy nodded. “I'd better go. Thanks again for taking care of Joy.”

“Anytime,” she said warmly and sincerely.

“It was nice to meet you, Frannie.”

“You too.”

As soon as the door closed behind Nancy, Frannie burst out, “He must have done it when I went to the bathroom!”

“Are you sure you didn't see anything?” Meg asked, taking the letter and trying to hide her eagerness.

“Nothing...So, are you going to open it?”

“Um...well...”

“Oh,” Frannie said, a smile spreading over her face. “I think I'll just go finish _Love's Sweet Kiss_ , then.” She winked. “Enjoy your mail.”

As soon as Frannie was gone, Meg opened the envelope. She was smiling before she even took the paper out. What kind of note would it be? Would it be sweet? Would it be sensual? Her admirer knew how to say a lot with just a few words, and that was part of the charm.

The sentence was even shorter than normal, but the sentiment meant a lot to Meg.

  
_“You make smart sexy.  
Love, your secret admirer.”_   


XXX

Frannie had been acting kind of weird that morning, Ray noted Even weirder than normal, and for Frannie that was pretty weird. Right now, she was gazing at him strangely, and Ray wondered if there were any way she could have figured out that he was the one leaving the notes. It was highly unlikely, but he still stiffened when she approached.

“Hi, Frannie.”

“Hi, Ray,” she said a little too brightly.

“Did you need something?” He closed his file and tapped it impatiently on his desk.

“Maybe.”

He waited a minute before bursting out, “Well, what is it?”

She sighed and leaned in to say quietly, “Do you know anything about video cameras?”

“Video cameras? Frannie, what are you up to?”

“Up to? I'm not up to anything.” She couldn't look him in the eye.

“Frannie...”

“Really. I just need someone to show me how to use one...and maybe someone to lend me one...”

Suddenly, Ray understood exactly what she was doing. A smile spread over his face. So she wouldn't know that he knew what was going on, he asked, “Are you planning on making some crazy sex tape?”

“What?” Her face scrunched up. “Ew. No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ray, are you going to help me or not?”

“Well, I do have a video camera.”

Her face brightened, and he could see the thoughts whirling around in her head. “You do?”

“Yes, and I'll lend it to you if you're careful.”

“Can you show me how to use it?”

“Sure,” he assured her, “it's easy. When do you need it?”

“From Sunday to Tuesday, if that's okay.”

Now Ray was certain he knew what she was up to. “No problem. Come pick it up, and I'll teach you how to use it.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

Ray just shook his head, wondering if there was anything he could do to sabotage things. After all, video cameras never looked away or had to go to the bathroom.

XXX

“Any idea what the Ice Queen wants to talk to us about, Fraser?” Ray asked late Wednesday afternoon as they, along with Turnbull, headed towards the Inspector's office. She had ordered them to be there at 4:30 sharp, and, even though Ray was not a member of her staff, he knew it was not a request.

“She probably wants to remind us of our inspection and review tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ray grimaced. He had forgotten that he was supposed to spend most of Thursday at the consulate playing nice with some bigwig from Ottawa.

Fraser knocked politely on the door and was immediately answered. “Come in.”

The Inspector was sitting behind her desk looking very official. Her back was straight and her hands were clasped. There were no signs of emotion on her face, and her eyes were narrow and stern.

Fraser and Turnbull both stood at attention, but Ray flopped down in the nearest chair. A slight hint of disapproval went through her eyes, but her expression remained icy.

“At ease, gentlemen.”

The Mounties both shifted into a slightly more relaxed stance, and Ray leaned back with his hands behind his head.

The Ice Queen stood fluidly and came around her desk. Her glance flicked over both of her officers and then to Ray.

“I cannot stress enough how important our inspection and review are tomorrow,” she started. “Fraser's future here, and, to a lesser extent, Turnbull's and mine as well, depends on it going smoothly.”

Fraser and Turnbull chorused, “Yes, sir.”

She raised an eyebrow at Ray, so he nodded.

“This person,” she said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth, “has the power to shut down the American cooperation duties of the Deputy Liaison position. He or she also has the power to transfer any or all of us or to reduce or increase our staff. Our futures are in his hand.”

She gave them each another cold glare and got another chorus of, “Yes, sir,” from Fraser and Turnbull.

“This means you will all need to be on your best behaviour. You will be polite, and you will answer each question honestly and to the best of your ability. Honesty, decorum, discipline. I will accept nothing less. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Detective?”

“Yeah, whatever, Inspector. No problem.”

“You do understand what I'm asking of you?”

He crossed his arms. “I'm not stupid.”

“No,” she agreed, no hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Of course not.” Something like worry flickered in her eyes.

“I'll be the perfect Canadian.” He said this to reassure her, but his words made her look slightly nervous.

“You will all call our reviewer 'sir', no matter his or her rank, and you will treat him—or her—with respect. You will neither take nor give any offense. You will be dressed neatly...” She eyed Ray. “Detective, please comb down your hair.”

“Okay,” he agreed, though he liked it better spiky and sexy.

“The Deputy Liaison position will be reviewed in the morning, starting at nine o'clock. Please be early.”

Ray knew that comment was probably for him.

“My review will begin in the afternoon. I will need both of you Constables here so he can ask you questions about me. Ray, you will then be dismissed.”

He sat up. “But I took the whole day off for this.”

“You're welcome to stay, if you like, but I highly doubt the reviewer will...” She turned thoughtful. “Then again, he may want to speak to you again. Maybe it will be best if you stay.”

He wondered what he'd say if some hotshot bigwig started asking him questions about the Ice Queen. Despite some of the not very generous things he'd thought about her over the two years he'd known her, he knew she was the one who singlehandedly got Fraser's work with the Chicago PD recognized and officially approved. Most of the time, unless Fraser was being punished, she was stern but fair, and sometimes...sometimes she would brush your fingers with hers as she took something from you or smile at a baby with a secret, sweet smile that turned your insides to jelly...and sometimes he wondered...He swallowed and forced his mind from wandering _there_.

“Fine. Frase and I will find something to do.”

She frowned. “Nothing that will disturb our reviewer, I hope.”

“Nah. Something quiet.”

She didn't look as if she completely believed him. “Oh, and, Detective...”

“Yeah?”

“I know you have a bit of a temper. Please control it. No matter what you are asked.”

“Who me? I'll be coolsville.”

She searched his face before saying, “I hope so. The three of you are dismissed...” She looked at her watch. “...until tomorrow morning. Be prepared.”

“Yes, sir,” Turnbull and Fraser said again.

Ray got to his feet slowly, watching her. She was still completely ice and turned back to her desk without even acknowledging his glance. The contrast between the working Inspector and the warm Meg Thatcher he had seen two days before was starting to intrigue him. It made him wonder if the Ice Queen would melt away if he just...

“Are you coming, Ray?” Fraser's voice cut across his thoughts.

“Uh, sure, buddy,” Ray said to his friend. “Wanna get something to eat?”

XXX

The man's name was Fox, Sergeant Nigel Fox, and Meg hated him on sight. He was a small man with a pointed nose and eyes that looked too small for his broad face. Those same eyes raked over her Serge-clad form not even ten minutes after he entered the office. She didn't know him, but she knew his type. Still, she forced a fake smile and greeted him, offering a tour of the Consulate.

Fraser, Turnbull, and Kowalski were all there in the foyer. The Constables stood at glorious, ramrod straight attention, and even the detective was practicing good posture. He had also dressed nicely and tamed his wild hair, for which she was grateful.

“Certainly, Inspector. I would love a tour. Will you be giving it to me personally?”

She fought to keep the polite smile on her face. “Constable Turnbull's talents lie in that particular direction, sir. If that is acceptable?”

He looked disappointed but said, “Of course.”

Turnbull came to life and smiled at Sergeant Fox. “I'm sure you'll find the tour delightful, sir. Did you know that we have 2.5 bathrooms on the premises? And the kitchen is fully stocked and able to prepare a meal for over twenty people. Of course, for the ball next week, we will be having everything catered. Not that the ball will be held here, of course. Our entertaining area at this Consulate is too small for the...”

He continued to babble on as he led the Sergeant away. Meg relaxed slightly and flicked her eyes over to Fraser and Ray. Fraser's face showed nothing but polite interest, but the Detective was frowning.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked quietly.

“I don't like him,” he said, just as quietly as Fox and Turnbull disappeared into her office.

“You don't have to like him,” she told him sternly, silently telling herself the same thing. “You just have to make a good impression.”

He nodded absently, but his eyes looked stormy. She wondered what, besides Fox's charming personality, had set Ray off already.

XXX

Ray walked into Inspector Thatcher's office for the second time that day. The man from Ottawa, Sergeant Fox, was seated behind the Inspector's desk. His beady eyes watched Ray as the detective came in and sat in one of the guest chairs.

Ray didn't like Fox. He didn't know why, but something about the man's eyes seemed mean and cold. Not Ice Queen cold, but dead fish cold. The Inspector didn't seem to like him any more than Ray did. Her jaw had clenched when he spoke to her, and she was so formal Ray felt as if he were standing beside the Queen of England.

He looked at the man across the desk, wondering why he was in here. It had been a couple of hours since his interview about Fraser's activities with the Chicago PD, and Ray had hoped to never see the rat-faced little man again.

“You wanted to see me...uh, sir?” he added, remembering his promise to the Ice Queen.

“Yes, Detective. How well do you know Inspector Thatcher?”

“What?”

“The Inspector. Do you know her well?”

“Uh...we've worked together a couple of times. I see her sometimes when I come to pick up Fraser or drop him off.”

“And you've known her for how long?”

Ray shifted in his chair. “About two years.”

Fox's eyes bored into him. “And do you feel the Inspector is professional? Competent?”

He frowned. “Sure. She's smart and organized, if that's what you're askin'.”

“Have you ever seen her act inappropriately?”

Ray didn't like where this was headed. Fox sounded way too eager, as if he were digging for something to use against Thatcher. “No.”

“There have been rumors...”

Ray cut him off. “I haven't seen nothin'. She's the best thing that coulda happened to this place.” He was surprised to realize that he really believed this.

Fox studied him coldly. “Are you sure, Detective Vecchio?”

“Yes.”

“And the Inspector didn't instruct you to lie to me?”

Ray was so shocked at the thought that his mouth fell open, and it was a few seconds before he spoke. “Of course not. Besides, I don't do anything she tells me, anyway.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”

Oops. “Because I'm a jerk who has a problem with authority. What's this all about?”

“I am investigating the Inspector's suitability for this posting,” Fox said primly.

“Well, she suits it fine. She's a good boss, tough but fair, and no amount of talkin' is gonna make me say otherwise.”

“Then I think we are through here. You may go now, Detective.”

Ray gave him a slight nod and sprang out of his seat. The Inspector might not be perfect, but there was no way he was going to let this _stranger_ railroad her. And he was sure Turnbull and Fraser would feel the same way.

XXX

Ray had been sitting quietly in Fraser's office playing Crazy Eights with Fraser and Turnbull for over an hour while Inspector Thatcher was holed up in her office with Fox, going over the evaluation. They were waiting to see if Fox would need to see them again.

Ray glanced up from his cards into the faces of his two friends. Turnbull was his usual cheery self, probably because he was winning, but Fraser looked slightly worried. It was nothing blatant, just a hint that Ray picked up on because he knew him so well. Ray knew the Inspector hadn't expected the review part of the process to go on very long, and he figured that could be the cause of Fraser's worry.

He played his next card and went to take a drink of his soda. When he found the can empty, he frowned into it. He frowned even more when Turnbull gleefully threw his last card onto the pile. The big Mountie giggled slightly as he added his new points to their running tally.

Ray shook his head and stood up, stretching.

“Ray?” Fraser asked.

“I need to go to the can...and I'm out of soda. Deal me in, and I'll be right back. Want anything?”

“I'll have a pop, please, Ray,” Turnbull said, gathering up the cards.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Fraser added.

“Okay, I'll be right back.”

The downstairs bathroom was in a small room next to the Inspector's office, so he tried to be quiet as he moved from the back hallway into the foyer.

He stopped when he saw Thatcher and Fox outside of her office, deep in conversation. The Inspector had shed her hat, but her Serge was still neat and pristine. It looked nice on her, Ray thought, though it made her body look kind of small and fragile. Strange, since it had the complete opposite effect on Fraser.

That slim body was now stiff and tense, and her eyes glared daggers at the man in front of her. Her face, however, showed nothing at all. It was as smooth as glass...or ice. Her skin was paper-white, and her lips were pressed together. Despite her lack of expression, or maybe because of it, Ray knew she was angrier than he had ever seen her.

At first, when he realized he was intruding, he was going to turn around and go back to Fraser's office, but as soon as he heard the tone of her voice, he couldn't look away.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“Sloppy, Inspector Thatcher. Sloppy. Your reports are sometimes late. Your Deputy is off running all over Chicago instead of working here at the Consulate...”

“Well, maybe, if I were given enough staff...”

He cut her off as she had him. “Staff has nothing to do with it. You run a loose ship. Your officers are lazy and stupid. One of them would rather cook than do his job. The other one is never here.”

The color came to her cheeks then, staining them crimson. “Constables Turnbull and Fraser are exemplary officers. They do all the duties assigned to them in a timely and commendable manner. Since you took our extra staff, the cleaning and any required cooking fall to Turnbull, but he never fails to perform all of his tasks in his allotted time. Not only that, he is always cheerful, always kind, and always welcoming. He is a comfort to those who come seeking aide when they have nowhere else to turn. And Fraser...”

“Yes, let's talk about Fraser and that American.”

“Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio are an asset to this Consulate...sir.” Her tone was ice cold, low, and as sharp as a blade.

“How can running around the city solving American crimes be beneficial to Canada?” His condescension was plain.

Her eyes flashed dangerously, but her voice was still calm and controlled. “I'm sure you've read my reports. Canadian-American relations have improved exponentially in this city since Fraser and Vecchio's partnership. It's one of the reasons our Prime Minister will be visiting Chicago this summer.”

“I'm still not sure...”

“And, if you have read any of my reports, you will also know that the two of them have been responsible for solving crimes committed against Canadian citizens as well as American. They singlehandedly prevented an international incident in the Bowman case a year and a half ago.”

He frowned, gouging the lines in his face even deeper. “I think you are biased, Inspector. Maybe it would be best to replace you at this posting with someone more impartial.”

She made a little incredulous sound in her throat. “Go ahead, if you really think you can find someone who will run things here better than I do.”

“There definitely need to be some changes around here,” Fox huffed, taking a step back from her quiet, cold anger. “I think I will recommend the dissolution of the American cooperation part of the Deputy Liaison Officer's duties. Replacing Constable Fraser would be best, especially with these rumors of impropriety.”

“You do what you want with me, but you will leave Constable Fraser alone.” She said this very softly, but the words still traveled to Ray, just a few feet away. They came out slowly, and each one was as sharp as glass. “If you don't, I will be on the phone before the hour is over, talking to your superior officer. I'm sure he'd love to know where you placed your hand when we were supposed to be having a private, professional discussion.”

He gaped at her for a moment, but she didn't flinch and she didn't back down. Her fiery eyes held as much contempt for him as he had been showing the Consulate all day.

After a moment, he said, “I don't like to be threatened, Inspector.”

“Neither do I.”

“You will be hearing from my department again.”

“Understood.” She relaxed slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing Fox defiantly.

Ray decided it was a good time to get out of there, before they noticed him. As he fled, the...what was that called, irony? Yeah, that was it. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. She had disobeyed almost all of her own orders, but she had done it amazingly. He was surprised the heat from Thatcher's eyes hadn't melted Fox into a disgusting pile of green ooze. He couldn't wait to tell Fraser.

XXX

Meg scowled as she slammed down the phone. She glared at the receiver for good measure and squashed the impulse to beat it against the desk.

It wasn't fair.

Not that anything in life was fair, she had to admit, but this still rankled.

She clenched her teeth and tried to push her anger away. She needed to be calm and professional for what she was about to do. Fraser and Turnbull couldn't know how upset she was.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, she picked up the phone again and pressed a button.

“Sir?”

Fraser's voice had a calming effect on her, and she felt her stomach unclench. Her voice was even as she said, “I need to see you and Turnbull in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up, and Meg waited patiently for the Constables to arrive. As she did so, she went over the words she had to say in her mind.

It took only seconds before she heard Fraser's polite knock. She knew it was Fraser's because he had a completely different knock than Turnbull. She had come to know her officers well, and she would miss them if she had to leave. Even though she often hated Chicago, the thought of leaving made her kind of sad.

“Come in.”

The Constables entered, both looking curious and puzzled. When Fraser met her eyes, his face smoothed.

“You wanted to see us, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. Please sit, both of you.”

“Sit?” He said it as if he'd never heard the word before.

“Is there a problem, Constable?”

“No, sir. Certainly not.” He took the chair nearest her desk and stiffly perched on the edge. Turnbull shot a glance first at the Inspector, then at Fraser, before taking the other.

“I have some news,” she started quietly, not really looking at either of them. “About our review.”

Fraser leaned forward. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“In a way.” She looked at him then, hazel-brown meeting gray for a split second before she let her eyes slide away. “They've agreed to keep your position as is for at least the next year, and then you will have another review.”

“That's good news,” Turnbull said with a smile.

Fraser didn't even look at his fellow Constable. His gaze remained locked on Meg herself. It was almost as if he knew. “And your review, ma'am?”

She should have known he'd pick up on what she wasn't saying. Sometimes he was excessively obtuse, but at others he was surprisingly perceptive.

“Mine didn't go quite as well. I'm on probation until after the Prime Minister's visit in June. If everything runs smoothly until then and the visit goes well, there will be no changes in our daily routine.”

He absorbed this as Turnbull's smile faded.

“And what does that mean, sir?” Fraser asked.

“Nothing for you to be concerned with,” she said firmly, though her anger rose again as she thought of Sergeant Fox. “I just wanted to keep you informed.”

He studied her briefly before replying, “Yes, sir.”

“Are they going to take you from us, sir?” Turnbull suddenly asked, looking slightly stunned. Meg didn't know if it was at the news or because he had dared to speak.

“I'm not sure what will happen, Turnbull,” she said honestly. “I just wanted the two of you to be prepared.”

“Understood.” This was Fraser. Calm and emotionless, he helped her to remain the same.

“Dismissed.”

XXX

“I'm not going to be able to go with you this afternoon, Ray,” Fraser said, looking up from the form he was filling.

Ray frowned. “How come? You were supposed to be off an hour ago.”

“The Inspector has given me some work that must be done by the end of the day.”

“What are you bein' punished for this time, Fraser?”

“I'm not being punished for anything.”

“Then what's her problem?”

“She's on probation, Ray.” His voice was quiet, deliberately pitched so it wouldn't carry.

“On probation?” Ray's eyes widened. “For what? Defending us? Not letting that guy bully her?”

“Apparently so.”

“Asshole.”

“Please, Ray,” Fraser looked pained.

“Did you like him?”

“Well, no.”

“Are you happy he railroaded the Ice Queen?”

“Of course not.”

Ray nodded. “Asshole.”

Fraser just sighed in reply, unable to deny it.

“So,” Ray continued, “because the Ice Queen is on probation...”

“I offered to help her get some of her more mundane duties done. We're trying to get a head start on next week, since most of our focus will be on the ball next Saturday.”

Ray had forgotten about the ball. He didn't know how, when Frannie had been mentioning it with every other breath.

“Well...uh...I guess I'll go then.”

“I'm sorry I didn't call, Ray. The day got away from me.”

“That's okay, buddy. My shift's almost over, anyway. We still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course, Ray. Eight o'clock sharp. I wouldn't miss it.”

“Greatness.” Ray told him, still slightly disappointed.

Fraser's face remained serious, but his eyes twinkled as he said, “You could always stay and help me with paperwork, Ray. There's lots to go around.”

Ray laughed, and a small smile touched his friend's face. They were rare enough that the rest of Ray's disappointment faded. “I don't even do my own paperwork. I'm outta here. See ya tomorrow, Frase.”

“Good-bye, Ray.”

On his way out, he met the Ice Queen coming from her office. Her eyes were glued to the papers in her hands, and she was barreling straight for Ray.

He hadn't expected to see her there, so his dodge was just a little too late. The air whooshed out of him as her body collided with his, and he suddenly found his arms full of warm Inspector.

Her papers went everywhere, and she made a funny little surprised sound. Ray's arms automatically went around her to keep her from falling.

The Ice Queen's eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open as she looked up into his face. Ray felt his body flush as it reacted to the softness of her curves against him, and the feel of her breath against his cheek was inviting.

After a very long moment, one in which a million inappropriate things went through Ray's mind, she said, a little breathlessly, “Pardon me.”

“Are you all right, Inspector?” he asked.

She was looking at him rather strangely, studying his face. He wondered if she could see that it was flushed; he really hoped she couldn't read his thoughts in his eyes.

“Yes, thank you, Detective. I apologize for not watching where I was going.”

“It's okay,” he said, reluctantly releasing her and moving away. “I didn't hurt you?”

Amusement flashed briefly over her face, pushing away her stunned expression. “ _I_ ran into _you_.”

“Yes, you did.” He bent down and started collecting her papers, so she did the same. By the time they had straightened, all hints of any emotion were gone from her face. Her eyes looked sad, though. “You dropped these.”

“Thank you, Detective.” She avoided his gaze.

He wanted to ask her again if she was all right, this time with a different meaning, but he wasn't quite brave enough. Instead, he said, “You guys seem to be working hard today.”

“Yes, we lost quite a bit of time yesterday for Sergeant Fox's inspection.” Anger sparked in her eyes.

“Yeah, what an asshole.” It slipped out before he could stop it, and he steeled himself for her reaction.

All he got was a heartfelt, “Indeed. Now, if there's nothing else, Detective, I've got to get these papers to Constable Fraser.”

“No, I was just leaving. Don't work too hard.”

This got him an expressive eyeroll. “Good-bye, Detective.”

“See ya.”

He watched her walk away, frowning slightly. She hadn't seemed quite like herself. For one thing, she hadn't yelled at him for their collision as she normally would have. Plus, besides that brief surge of anger, most of her fire seemed to be gone. She was worried about her probation, that had to be the answer, and it pissed him off. All she did was defend her Constables—and even Ray—and that creep had put her on probation.

Ray didn't like it, though why it should bother him that the Inspector was worried and sad, he didn't know.

As he turned to go, he pushed these unsettling thoughts from his mind to focus on something more interesting, like the way the Ice Queen had fit perfectly against him and the way her delightful body had felt in his arms.

XXX

“Now, this just wasn't fair!” Frannie exclaimed, pointing at the TV screen.

Meg, amused in spite of herself, had to hold back laughter at the outrage on her friend's face.

Frannie rewound the tape, and Meg watched again as the little girl, maybe seven years old, trotted up the Consulate steps with a pink envelope in her hand.

“I think he's outsmarted us, Frannie,” Meg said cheerily, in the first good mood she'd been in for days.

“But it's so sneaky.”

“He's got to be on to us.” This time, the laugh did escape, and her friend looked at her reproachfully.

“But it's still not fair.”

“I don't think there's any rule that says he has to play fair.” Meg went over to the VCR and pressed 'stop' and 'eject'. Still smiling, she held out the offending tape to Frannie. Frannie took it with a displeased grunt.

“I don't know why you're not more disappointed, Meg Thatcher. He's _your_ secret admirer.”

Meg leaned against her desk and said honestly, “I like getting the notes. If we find out who he is, maybe they'll stop.”

“But...”

“But what?”

“Wouldn't you rather have a living, breathing man who cares about you?”

“What if he's not ready to act on his thoughts? We could scare him away. If he comes to me, I'll know he's ready to show me he cares, not just tell me.”

Frannie frowned and tapped thoughtfully on her lip. “You don't want to know?”

“Oh, I want to know all right, but I can be patient.”

“Do you want me to stop trying to catch him?”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

Frannie grinned. “Good because it's making me nuts. Even if he is a sneaky lowdown sneak.”

She leaned against the desk beside Meg, and the two of them were silent for a minute. Meg thought again about how bizarre it was that the two of them had recently become such good friends. She couldn't imagine doing this kind of thing with anyone else. Frannie pushed Meg's boundaries, and life as her friend seemed a little more fun.

“So,” Frannie asked, looking at her sideways, “what did it say?”

Meg had been waiting for that ever since Frannie came in brandishing the tape. “I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not.”

Frannie bumped her shoulder against Meg's. “It's from him. Of course it's a compliment.”

“It said, ' _When you're angry, your eyes flash with fire_ '. What does that mean, anyway?”

“Meg.”

“What?”

“It means you're sexy when you're angry. It means your eyes turn him on. It means...”

“Okay. Okay. I know. It's just strange.”

“It means fights ending in long, glorious make up...”

“Frannie, please.” Meg glanced at her door to make sure it was firmly closed. “'You are going to drive me crazy,” she said this fondly, pushing herself upright. “Your lunch break's almost over. You'd better get back to work.”

Frannie's eyes were full of mirth as she grabbed Ray's camera and the tape. “Notes are hard to kiss and hold, Meg. We've got to find out who this man is so you can grab him and show him you're flesh and blood, not paper.”

“Good-bye, Frannie.”

XXX

“So I said, 'When was the last time _you_ went to a ball?'”

Ray looked up at the sound of Frannie's voice to see her and the Ice Queen headed in his direction. The Inspector was frowning, in thought not in displeasure, and Ray didn't know how she could stand to hear Frannie talk about that stupid ball one more time.

“That wasn't very nice, Frannie.”

“She deserved it.”

Ray was just trying to decide whether to run the other way when two sets eyes were suddenly focused on him.

“Hello, Detective,” the Ice Queen said.

He nodded. “Inspector. What are you doing here?”

She stopped and squared her shoulders before he realized how his question sounded. Her voice was clipped as she said, “I have an appointment with Lieutenant Welsh this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“She's allowed to be here if she wants, Ray.” Frannie glared at him.

“I know. Geez, Frannie, don't get your panties in a bunch.”

Frannie opened her mouth and he knew he was going to get it. He was saved from whatever she was going to yell at him when the Ice Queen put a hand on her arm.

“We were just talking about the Consular Ball, Detective. Will you be attending?”

He should have said no. He'd been telling people no for the past month. The ball meant getting dressed up and feeling uncomfortable and talking to people who he had nothing in common with and who bored him to death.

“I don't know.”

She eyed him. “You would have to dress up for the occasion.”

“I know that.”

“There'll be free food,” Frannie told him. “And music and dancing. Do you have something against music and dancing?”

“Of course not...I like dancin'...”

Thatcher raised an eyebrow at him. “You do?”

“Don't you?” It dawned on him for the first time that she would be at the ball, in a form-fitting gown, possibly dancing.

“I just never figured you for a dancer.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Inspector.”

He met her eyes but had to look away when her keen gaze seemed to sift through his thoughts. There were plenty of them in there that he really didn't want her to see, one of them being his most recent—that she would look delicious all done up for the ball.

He was surprised to find himself considering at least making an appearance. If he went, he would be able to see Thatcher in another of her natural elements. He wondered if she would be as icy as a diplomat as she was an RCMP administrator. He wanted to find out.

“Stop trying to be mysterious, Ray,” Frannie scoffed. “You're as dull as swamp water.”

“I think you mean...”

She pointed a finger at him. “Don't even.”

The Inspector was still looking at him curiously, so he asked her, “Are you looking forward to the shindig? It's all Frannie can talk about.”

She smiled then, brief but warm and genuine. “What woman doesn't like to get dressed up and go to a party?”

Her sudden warmth stunned him, and he barely heard her politely excuse herself to go to her meeting. Frannie started babbling some more about the ball, but he tuned her out too. Somewhere between the Inspector's smile and her question, Ray had made up his mind.

What did a guy wear to a ball, anyway?

XXX

Ray started in Fraser' office. He found Dief there, but there was no sign of Fraser. Frowning, he moved from there to the kitchen, which was also empty. He looked in the supply closet, and in a couple of empty offices.

When he got to the foyer, he checked almost all of the side rooms before glancing into the Ice Queen's office. She was not seated at her desk, but Ray heard a noise behind the door.

“Uh...hello?”

“Hello, Detective,” Turnbull's cheery voice greeted him. “Come in.”

Ray entered the Ice Queen's office to see Turnbull standing there in an apron carrying a feather duster.

Ray's eyebrows rose at the sight. “What are you doin'?”

“Isn't it obvious, Ray? I'm cleaning Inspector Thatcher's office.”

“Where's Fraser?”

Turnbull continued to clean as he answered, “He and the Inspector are in a meeting.”

Ray was glad he hadn't tried the door to the conference room. He went over to the Inspector's desk and sat on it, watching his friend work. All of his Canadian friends were neat and tidy, and Turnbull was the worst of the bunch.

He watched in silence for a minute, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the air and wondering if he should ask Turnbull for help.

Turnbull answered this by saying, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Ray rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Well, actually, yeah.”

He stopped cleaning to give Ray his full attention.

“The ball is coming, and...” Ray had heard the word so many times, he hated to say it. “...I don't...well...uh...What kind of suit do I wear?”

“Constable Fraser and I usually wear our dress uniforms.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “I figured that. No help. I'm not wearing my dress blues.”

“Most of the other men wear...I'll tell you what, Ray. As soon as I finish with the Inspector's office, why don't I help you find something?”

“Don't you have to work?”

“I didn't take a lunch break yet today.”

“Oh, okay. If you won't get in trouble with the Ice Qu...” At Turnbull's look, he continued, “The Inspector.”

Turnbull began to whistle as he went back to attacking imaginary dust. At least it looked imaginary to Ray. Thatcher always kept her office immaculate.

As he sat there tapping his heels against the desk, something near his hand caught his eye. He looked down to see his little ice fairy perched there between a picture of a man who might have been Thatcher's grandfather and one of a smiling Thatcher on a motorcycle.

Ray ran his fingers over her delicate wings. Even though her face was expressionless, he felt as if her dark eyes were smiling at him. He had found that he missed her watching over him as he wrote his notes, but she seemed to belong there among the Inspector's things.

Obviously, Thatcher liked her. He was hoping she would, especially with the terrible week she was having when he gave it to her. In his mind, he could see a smile stealing over her face when she first saw the fairy. The thought warmed him, and he wished he could have seen it in real life.

XXX

Ray waited patiently, or as patiently as he could, for his meal to finish warming in the microwave. The kitchen was mostly silent, with regular meal prep sounds and the tapping of keys being periodically interrupted by quiet, polite comments.

It wasn't often that Ray ate lunch at the Consulate with Fraser, but Turnbull had made him promise to try his latest concoction. Though the Constable wasn't there, he had left some in the fridge for Fraser, Thatcher, and Ray.

Fraser was already eating his meal, and he seemed to be enjoying it. The Inspector was on the other side of the table, working as she waited for her turn at the microwave. She peered at her laptop intently, her brow furrowed and a slight frown on her face.

There was a newspaper near Fraser's elbow and Ray, going crazy from the quiet, pulled it towards him. It was open to a crossword someone had started. The letters were even and neat, but he couldn't tell whose they were.

“So, Ray, what are you doing this afternoon?” Fraser asked quietly, pouring some more milk in his glass.

Ray grimaced. “Paperwork. Fun, huh?...Hey, what's an eight letter word for love?”

“Devotion,” came from across the table before Fraser even had a chance to open his mouth.

Ray glanced up at the Ice Queen, but she didn't seem to be paying him any attention at all. She tapped on some keys and mumbled to herself.

Ray glanced at Fraser, who nodded. “I believe she's right, Ray.”

He filled it in, along with the next three. Fraser was silent because, of course, he never spoke with his mouth full.

“What about you?”

Fraser finished chewing and swallowed before answering. “This afternoon?”

“Yeah.”

“The same.”

“When did police work get so boring?...An eleven letter word for giving birth? They've got to be kidding. How many letters in pregnancy? It starts with a p.”

The Ice Queen looked up and rolled her eyes. “I believe the word you're looking for is parturition, Detective.”

“Partur...what?”

“Parturition, Ray,” Fraser told him and proceeded to spell it.

“Oh.”

The microwave beeped and he got up to retrieve his...mess. He didn't know what else to call it as he took out his plate. It looked disgusting but smelled heavenly, so he decided to give it a try. He grabbed a fork and settled back in his chair.

Thatcher didn't notice the microwave was free, and he wondered if he should tell her. He watched her for a minute, noting she was engrossed in whatever she was typing, and decided not to.

As he took a bite of his gooey mess—gooey and delicious, he discovered—he started filling out more of the crossword.

“This is good.”

“Yes,” Fraser agreed. “Surprisingly so.”

“My compliments to the cook.”

“He'll be pleased to hear that.”

“Where is he any...An eleven letter word for pessimist? Hmmnnn...I don't think Harding Welsh would fit...”

“Crepehanger.”

Ray flicked his eyes to the Inspector, who was still engrossed in her work.

“Fraser, will you tell her to stop doing that?”

“You did ask for help, Ray,” Fraser told him, getting up to rinse his dishes.

The Ice Queen smirked at him over her laptop. He made a face at her, earning himself another eyeroll. He was tempted to just sit there and make faces at her all afternoon, but then his food would get cold.

“Microwave's free, Inspector,” he said.

“Here, I'll put it in for you, sir,” Fraser offered.

“Thank you, Fraser,” she said, giving Ray another amused glance before going back to her work.

She didn't look up again.

XXX

Ray stood by the refreshment table feeling stupid. His suit itched, and most of the people there looked rich and snobby. There'd been no sign of Fraser yet, or any of his other friends for that matter, and, even though he'd just arrived, Ray wanted to go home.

He was fiddling with his glass, wondering if he should, when Thomas Dewey came up to get some punch.

“Hey, Ray.” He was smiling, and his eyes were sparkling.

“Hey. Having fun?”

“Babes and free food, man. What's not to love?”

Ray grunted. “I'm bored. I don't even know why I came.”

The main door of the ballroom opened, and he glanced that way and froze. His mouth opened slightly and went completely dry as a vision in red entered. He let his eyes roam freely over a Thatcher he'd never seen before. She was all legs and arms and shoulders and...and _skin_...Her dress was low cut in the front as well as the back, he noticed as she turned to speak to the Mountie coming in behind her, and mere strips of fabric were all that were keeping it from sliding over the curves it hugged to pool on the floor at her feet. The dress came modestly to just below her knees, though the material showed more than it hid, and a slit up the side gave tantalizing glimpses of thigh.

Red was her color, he thought, swallowing as he admired how it looked against her pale skin and how it made her eyes look bigger and darker than usual. Definitely her color.

Beside him, Dewey whistled. “Ice Queen cleans up.”

Ray glanced at him, annoyed but not sure why. “Put your eyes back in your head.”

“I mean, I wouldn't throw her out of bed...”

“Shut up.”

This got him a strange look. “You're losin' it.”

Fraser, Turnbull, and Frannie followed the Ice Queen in, and Ray's eyes went to his pretend sister. She was practically glowing with happiness, and the dress she had chosen made her look soft and sweet. Turnbull was gazing at her as if she were the only human being in his universe, and Ray now knew what he'd only suspected before.

His eyes slid back to Inspector Thatcher, unable to stay away. She looked warm and inviting. He wanted to go up to her and touch her. Nothing too inappropriate or private, just a gentle trailing of his fingertips across her face or a taking up of those elegant fingers in his.

As if she felt his eyes on her, she glanced in his direction. Her gaze met his, and she smiled briefly, with no hint of ice or derision. Ray waved unsteadily back, and she inclined her head in acknowledgment before turning to speak to Fraser.

“You've got a thing for the Ice Queen, don't you?”

Ray had almost forgotten Dewey was beside him. At his friend's comment, he snapped, “Of course not. She's made of ice.”

Dewey wiggled his eyebrows. “Ice melts.”

Ray snorted and left, heading for Turnbull and Frannie. He needed to be with some people who made sense.

How could Dewey think he had a thing for the Ice Queen? The thought made him want to laugh. Just because she was sexy and beautiful and smart and he wanted to know how it would feel to slide down those thin straps of her dress so it would...

He stopped in mid motion as realization dawned on him.

Oh, crap.

XXX

Meg was enjoying herself. Most of the time, these things were hit and miss, depending on the guests. She had never realized, though, how much fun she could have at a formal function with a friend to share it with. It was wonderful to see everything through Frannie's eyes because even the little things, like the lilies on the tables, delighted her.

Of course, Meg had to go from guest to guest, dividing her time, but she always found her way back to Frannie.

At the moment, her young friend was dancing with Turnbull. Both of them had shining eyes, and Meg was sure the two of them were completely and totally in love. Not that she believed in love, of course.

Her eyes fell on Ray Kowalski, standing alone and looking uncomfortable. Her thoughts went fondly to the moment that evening when she had first seen him and her stunned knowledge that he was ogling her in her dress. If someone who disliked her as much as he did appreciated her that way, then she must look better in it than she thought. It had been quite an ego boost.

She studied him. Uncomfortable or not, he cleaned up well. Who knew he would look so nice in a tux?

He turned his head at that moment, and Meg colored slightly at being caught. Still, she met his eyes without flinching and moved towards him.

“Hello, Detective,” she said warmly, giving him a smile. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

His eyes widened a little, as if he were surprised she'd talk to him. “Uh...it's not really my thing.”

She touched him gently on the wrist, finding unexpected delight at the softness of his skin. She attributed it to the atmosphere, the way he looked in his tux, and the two glasses of wine she'd had.

“To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you came.” She indicated Fraser, who was twirling an elderly lady expertly across the dance floor. “My Constables have to come. It's part of their job, but I thought you found the whole idea of a ball rather silly.”

He was looking at her strangely, as if she were speaking a form of Chinese. His eyes dropped to her hand, but she stubbornly refused to move it.

After a moment, he shrugged. “Yeah, well, everyone else was comin'.”

“The food's good,” she told him. “Have you tried it?”

“Yeah. Danced with Frannie too.”

She'd seen. He was amazingly light on his feet. She wondered where he'd learned to dance like that.

“I'm glad you're having a good time.”

“Me too.”

He was still looking at her strangely. Pretending not to notice, she nodded at Turnbull and Frannie. “They seem to be enjoying themselves as well.”

Ray chuckled, relaxing. “I don't think Turnbull's taken his eyes off her for two seconds. Even when he was shmoozin'.”

She took her hand away and leaned in close to whisper, “I give it six months.”

His startled eyes went to hers. “'Til they break up?”

“No, Detective. Until they're married.”

“Married? Frannie?”

His breath gently caressed her face, and she realized how close they were. Suddenly self conscious, she shifted away from him slightly.

“I've seen more surprising things. You mark my words. He's going to ask, and she'll say yes. Don't you know her at all?”

He still looked doubtful. “Maybe not.”

And maybe a little sad. This puzzled her, and she wondered if he cared for Frannie as more than a friend and sister.

As if she had been drawn to the sound of her name, Frannie breathlessly hurried up to Meg and Ray.

“This is wonderful!” she gushed. “Thank you so much, Meg, for inviting me.”

She'd said that at least five times already, but Meg didn't hold it against her. “I'm glad you like it.”

“I do!” Then she turned serious. “How's my makeup?”

“It's fine,” Ray said.

“Oh, what do you know?” Soft and sweet Frannie suddenly turned all Vecchio.

“I'm just sayin'.”

“He's right, Frannie.” Meg had to fight to keep the amusement from her voice. Despite not being born real siblings, they had adapted to their roles with surprising ease.

“Are you sure? Let's go check.”

She grabbed Meg's hand and started hauling her away. Meg gave Ray a helpless look, which earned her a wink, and let her friend lead her quickly towards the washroom.

XXX

Ray was once more at the refreshment table, drinking punch and watching the dancers. He had almost asked the Inspector herself to dance earlier. The words had been right on his tongue, but he just hadn't been able to say them. Now, he regretted missing his chance, and he was contemplating going home.

He saw Turnbull and Frannie talking softly at a nearby table. Turnbull was holding her hand, and occasionally one of them would laugh. They were dressed so nicely and looked so sweet that they were like the fairytale couple Frannie had wanted them so badly to be.

His eyes lazily searched the room until they landed on his Ice Queen. His hand still tingled where her fingers had touched him, and he wondered if she knew how that light contact had unnerved him.

She was standing now with an older man who was smiling at her in a way Ray didn't like. He straightened as he saw the man caress the bare skin of her shoulder. The hand remained there possessively. The Inspector's face went completely blank for a split second before she smiled.

Ray recognized that smile. It was the fake one she wore when performing an unpleasant duty. He had seen it dozens of times, worn to separate the Inspector's duties from her real thoughts and feelings.

He continued to watch as she listened to the older man's words and nodded, watched as the man's hand slid across the flesh of her back so he could put an arm around her.

Ray was probably the only one who saw the look that flashed over her face before she allowed herself to be led away. It was a look that made him frown darkly into his drink.

He swallowed the punch in his mouth and put his fragile glass on the table. Taking his eyes off Thatcher, he glanced at Turnbull. The young man was still in deep conversation with Frannie, and there were no signs of Fraser.

Mind made up, he determinedly pushed away from the table. She would probably kill him for interfering, but he didn't care.

It took a moment for him to find them again. The Inspector and the man with the hands were in a secluded and darkened corner. Mr. Hands had taken one of her small wrists in his free hand. He was leaning very close, and Inspector Thatcher's fake smile was starting to look frayed.

Ray wondered how often she had to deal with this kind of indignity, because of her job. Just because a man was important, didn't give him the right to paw a woman in public, where politeness forbade her to fight back.

Well, Ray wasn't a woman, and he wasn't a diplomat. Hell, he wasn't even all that polite.

As he approached, he caught the Inspector's eye, and something like relief briefly touched her face. Ray struggled with his anger, trying to keep it from showing. It was hard, but he promised himself he would play it cool and not embarrass her by punching Mr. Hands in the face.

“Meg,” he said, forcing a smile. “There you are.”

“Ray,” she answered, moving her wrist away from her lecherous companion. “I've been looking for you.”

Mr. Hands frowned, so Ray turned his smile on him. “Hi, I'm Detective Ray Vecchio. I don't believe we've met. I'm Meg's date.”

The frown turned to surprise, and he hastily retracted the arm that had been trying to weld itself to Thatcher's shoulders. He huffed a little as he reached out that same hand to shake Ray's offered one.

“Hello, Detective. I was just keeping your date company.”

“I see that,” Ray said evenly.

“I'm suddenly very thirsty. It was nice to have met you, Detective. Inspector.” He nodded to them both before quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Inspector Thatcher visibly relaxed as soon as the man was out of view. She shuddered delicately.

“Thank you.”

“Who was that creep?”

“A high official from the Icelandic government. He is in town for a couple of weeks, so Ottawa insisted I invite him.”

“He's also a creep.”

“Yes, it would appear so.” Then, she looked down, frowning. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress.”

Ray made a big show of looking her over from head to foot. “What are you talking about? You look hot in that dress.”

“Detective!” she said with a smile that spread across her face. No fake smile for him, he was pleased to see when the smile warmly reached her eyes. It was enough to almost take his breath away.

“What? I wasn't supposed to notice?”

She just shook her head and put her hand on his arm. “That's nice of you to say.”

He swallowed before answering, “That's me, Mr. Nice Guy.”

“Speaking of,” Her touch was gone and he found he missed it. “Do you make a habit of rescuing ladies in distress?”

“Sure.” He gave her his most playful smile. “It's all that Mountie influence. You hang around with three of 'em long enough, it's bound to happen.”

Something flitted over her face then. It was gone so quickly that he wasn't sure what exactly. All he knew was that it was a little bit vulnerable, and it made him find his courage.

“Would you care to dance, Inspector?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft as she answered, “I believe I would.”

He took her hand in his, noticing how well their fingers fit together, and led her to the dancing couples. The song was slow as he took her into his arms, touching sweet skin by invitation that Mr. Hands had to touch by force. Her scent surrounded him as she moved close, her body swaying with his. He closed his eyes and breathed it in, blocking out everything but the fact that he was holding her and she was holding him, and nothing in his life had felt so right.

XXX

Meg was at her desk early Monday morning trying to catch up on some of the backlog of work she had in her inbox. Planning for the ball had put her behind and, because of her probation, she didn't dare to stay that way. It looked as if she would be spending a lot more nights working after hours. With a grimace, she thought she might as well bring her pajamas and sleep on her sofa. She'd have to ask Ray if it were comfortable.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a horrible, high-pitched scream. Fear gripped Meg, and she jumped to her feet, almost knocking her laptop off of her desk.

She rushed out of the room, meeting Constable Fraser in the foyer.

“Turnbull?” she asked tightly.

“I believe so, ma'am.”

They hurried to the door, but it opened before they got there. Constable Turnbull staggered in, but he wasn't shot or maimed as Meg had expected. Instead, his face and hands were blotched with dark blue, and the color had saturated the front of his uniform. He looked both horrified and terrified.

“What happened, Constable?” Meg asked sharply, shock stopping her in her tracks.

“My uniform, sir. My _uniform_.”

“Yes, Turnbull, I know. What happened?”

“I...I went out...The mailbox lid was ajar...I went out to check if some mail had been left behind...”

“And had it?” she interrupted.

He scrunched up his face. “No, sir. All I found was...was this.”

“Please explain,” Fraser asked, studying the other Constable.

“I opened the top, and it exploded...All over my uniform.”

She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so sad. “We'll have it dry cleaned.”

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled.

“Fraser, please go investigate our mailbox.”

“It must have been those pranksters, sir.”

She looked at him blankly. “Pranksters?”

“The ones targeting the mail.”

“Oh.” She should have known one of the few lies she'd ever told would come back to bite her in the ass. This was why she had a complete honesty policy. “Probably so.”

He nodded and left, but Turnbull just stood there with wide eyes. “My uniform.”

Meg sighed heavily. “Go home and change, Constable. Send your uniform to the cleaners and put it on the Consulate account. You remember the number?”

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly and turned to follow Constable Fraser.

When she was alone, Meg hurried to her desk and dialed a familiar number.

“27th Division. Civilian Aid Francesca Vecchio speaking.”

“Frannie!” Meg couldn't keep her voice from rising.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Are you insane?”

“I don't think so.”

“What were you thinking?” Her anger and frustration bubbled over.

“Oh! Did it work?”

“Did it work? Did it work?” Meg had to sit down.

“I don't know. Did it?”

Meg let out a growl before saying, “Constable Turnbull looks as if he had a fight with the world's biggest pen—and lost.”

“Ren? It got Ren?” She sounded surprised and kind of hurt.

“He's not the admirer, Frannie. He was an innocent bystander who wondered why the top of the mailbox wasn't completely closed.”

“Then you didn't get a note?”

“It's a good thing. No more booby traps.”

“It was only supposed to get on his hands. I thought we could get his...”

“No more.”

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I don't think the dye is permanent. It should wash off.”

“I hope so, or you'll be dating the first giant Smurf,” Meg said, trying to rein in her irritation. She heard a stifled giggle, so she continued, “Did you ever stop to think that if dye exploded in his face, my admirer might think I wanted the notes to stop?”

“Well, I...You don't think that's why...?”

Meg slumped against the desk. “I hope not.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” A picture of blue Turnbull went through her mind and she started to laugh. “You should have seen him.”

“My poor Rennie. I'll have to drop by to see him later.”

“Good idea. He probably needs a hug.” There was a knock on her door. “Oh, gotta go.” She hung up and said, “Come in, Constable.”

Fraser appeared, and her eyes went immediately to his hand. In it was a pink envelope.

“Sorry to intrude, sir. Before I attempt to clean the mailbox...and the outside of the building...”

“Yes?”

“Someone slipped this under the Consulate door this morning, and it has your name on it.”

“Thank you, Fraser,” she said calmly, trying to hide her delight and anticipation. She took the envelope from his hand, forcing herself not to look at it. “Dismissed.”

When he was gone, she dropped her Inspector face and turned her eyes to the envelope.

“Well, hello,” she said quietly. “What have you got for me today?”

She hesitated before opening it, as she always did, enjoying the feel of the fluttering in her stomach. Silly or not, this was her favorite part. Finally, she couldn't wait any longer and quickly opened the envelope.

  
_“I would love to trail the tips of my fingers gently across your cheek.  
Love your secret admirer”_   


Meg sighed. There was something so sweet and tender about the words that she couldn't help it. The girl in her that had been taking over her mind occasionally lately wanted to call Frannie right back. Unfortunately, the Inspector in her still had mountains of work to do.

XXX

Meg was tired. She had a headache, her eyes were gritty, and she felt as if she would scream if one more cheerful Mountie wished her a good morning—and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet.

She really shouldn't have stayed until after midnight the night before, but she couldn't see any other way of getting her work caught up. At least now it looked as if three or four more late nights would do it. If they didn't kill her first, that is.

Her phone beeped and she frowned at it, hoping it would explode. She had no such luck, however, so she had to answer it.

“Yes, Turnbull?” she asked icily.

“There's someone on the phone for you, sir. From Ottawa.”

“Ottawa? All right, I'll take the call.” She quickly pressed the button for the outside line. “Inspector Margaret Thatcher speaking. May I help you?

“Inspector Thatcher? This is Inspector Coombs.”

Inspector Coombs, though of equal rank, was Meg's boss. She straightened in her chair, wondering where the ax was going to fall this time. “Hello, Inspector. What can I do for you this morning?”

“I called to tell you there are a few changes of which you need to be aware.”

“Okay.”

“You remember Sergeant Fox?”

“Vaguely, sir.” She could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Sergeant Fox has been dismissed.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Dismissed?”

“Yes, he and several others were dismissed and charged with misconduct. In fact, I'm sorry to say your old mentor in legal affairs was one of them.”

“Henri? Henri's been dismissed?” She could hardly believe it.

“I know the two of you were close...”

“I hated his guts,” she blurted, then winced at how unprofessional it sounded.

“Oh...” There was an uncomfortable pause before he said, “Anyway, because of Fox's dismissal, your inspection from a couple of weeks ago has been reviewed. We have decided that it was biased. Because of this, we will be sending you the extra staff you have been requesting...”

“For over a year, sir.”

He was stern as he answered, “I am aware of that, Inspector.”

“I apologize. Please continue.”

“We will be sending the extra staff next month, after the holiday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Also, we will be lifting your probation, and things will continue to remain as they have been at the Consulate.”

Meg breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“There is one condition,” he continued, and she tensed. “Because Fox's report is inadmissible, we still need some sort of report on Fraser's duties as Deputy Liaison Officer.”

“What do you mean?”

“We need a first-hand account of Constable Fraser's activities with...Oh, yes...with Detective Vecchio.”

“First-hand?”

“Yes, Inspector. I want you to go along with Constable Fraser and the American for a complete shift so that you may write a detailed report on their activities.”

Shocked, she said, “I don't think that's a good idea, sir. They wouldn't want me to...”

“You are aware that you are his senior officer?”

“Yes, of course I'm aware, sir, but it wouldn't go over well. Detective Vecchio doesn't seem to care for me.”

“I don't see what difference that makes, Inspector Thatcher. Either we get that report or we cancel our support of the American Cooperation portion of the Deputy Liaison position. Do you understand?”

She tried to keep her anger from her voice. “Yes, sir. I understand. I will request...”

“He's your subordinate. Make it an order.”

“I don't think it will come to that. Constable Fraser is a reasonable man.”

“This week, Inspector. We want the report on Monday.”

“Yes, sir.”

He softened his tone. “You need to do this, Meg.”

“I will, sir. You'll have your report.”

XXX

“No.” Ray said the word as calmly as he could, though his insides were boiling.

“No?” Fraser looked at him, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Yes, no. I'm not going to have the Ice Queen peering over my shoulder for a whole day.”

His friend ran a knuckle over his eyebrow. “I get the impression that saying no is not an option.”

Ray frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “She's not my boss.”

“But she is mine, Ray.”

Ray got up from his desk and started banging filing cabinets. Who did she think she was, anyway? She thought she could just barge right in and take over. Did she think Ray would meekly agree to having her there?

Ray's mind flashed to her sitting by his desk, condescension in her body language and a cold mask on her face. He scowled. There were so many things wrong with this. One, the Ice Queen thought she could boss everyone around. Why couldn't she just stick to tormenting her own employees and leave Ray alone? B, he hated people watching him do his job, especially when they were just waiting for him to screw up. He was sure the Ice Queen would love to point out his flaws.

Thinking about it made him so mad that if she were there, he'd tell her off big time. He'd yell and yell and yell until she yelled back...which would cause its own problems.

This brought him to another reason he didn't want her with them. Inspector Thatcher had always been a distraction. Cold, confrontational, sarcastic, she pushed Ray's buttons as well as he pressed hers. Now, it was so much worse. Her scent would be in his car. She'd argue with him and he'd see those gorgeous eyes flash. How was he supposed to concentrate on anything with her there?

He stifled a groan and argued, “I said no, Fraser.”

“But...”

“That's my final answer.”

XXX

Meg steeled herself as she approached Ray's desk. She knew Ray was probably furious at her for forcing this on him. He would probably be terrible to her all day, and she wouldn't be able to say anything—not if she wanted to save Fraser's job. She just hoped the time passed swiftly.

Ray looked up at her, his eyes stormy. She matched his glare and let her Inspector face settle blankly on her features.

“Good morning, Detective.”

He didn't answer her. Instead, he glanced at Fraser, who had come in behind her. “I want you to know I'm doing this under dysentery.”

“Do you mean duress, Ray?” Fraser asked.

Ray sighed crankily and stood up, his glare going back to Meg. “Whatever it is, I'm doing this under it.”

“I understand that, Detective,” she said coolly, refusing to show how uncomfortable she was, “I'm in exactly the same position. Do you think it is my deepest desire to trail behind you and Constable Fraser like a puppy?”

He waved this away with a snort. “I don't want to know about your deepest desires.”

“Then, let's get on with this, shall we?”

“One more thing first,” he growled.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What's that?”

“You come with me, you follow my rules.”

“Which are?”

“You are a ghost today. I don't want to hear you. I don't want to see you. You're not even here.”

“Fine.”

“I'm serious. That means Fraser rides in the front. You ride in the back.”

Meg rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever. Can we just get this over with?”

“We understand each other?” She just looked at him. “Okay. Sit down. We got a new case to review.”

“I assume any offer of input would be frowned upon?” she asked him.

“You got it.”

Fraser was silent during their discussion, but when Meg went to sit down, he pulled out her chair for her. She nodded her thanks and settled in, ears open. She would follow Ray's rules—anything to get through the day—but she wouldn't promise not to listen.

XXX

They really worked well together.

Of course, Meg had noticed this in the past, but she'd never been ordered to study it before. They seemed to communicate effortlessly without words. Fraser was confident and slightly sarcastic. Ray was all over the place, and his brain worked in a unique and interesting way. Somehow, together it just worked.

They were stiff at first because they knew she was watching, but she followed Ray's rules, and when they opened up, she watched them with some awe, and maybe a little jealousy.

Now, they were following up a lead. At the station, she had felt eyes on her, and it seemed everyone wanted to come see the Ice Queen...especially that strange Detective Dewey. He had looked at her oddly before grinning at Ray and telling the three of them to enjoy their day. To make matters worse, Frannie had been away, so Meg didn't even have the comfort of a friendly face.

In the car, her experience was the opposite. Ray was pretending so hard that she wasn't there that she felt invisible. The only one who seemed to see her was Diefenbaker, who kept breathing down her neck in hopes that she'd reach in her pocket and pull out a cookie.

In the front, Ray and Fraser were arguing about the case. She listened to them absently, staring out the window.

“You comfy back there?” Ray's voice rose slightly, and she glanced towards the front to see him watching her in the rear view mirror.

She leaned back against the seat. “I'm not allowed to talk to you.”

He winked at her before turning back to Fraser. Meg's mouth opened slightly, and she felt her temper rise. The nerve of him! First, he forbade her to speak, and then he had the gall to tease her about it.

Meg frowned and glared at the back of his head. She felt eyes on her, so she glanced at Diefenbaker. The wolf was regarding her with a tongue lolling doggy grin.

“What are you looking at?”

If a canine could laugh, he was laughing at her. She let out a disgusted sound and lay her head against the window. Closing her eyes, she tried to fight off the headache that was threatening to overwhelm her.

Maybe it would have been easier to let them kick her out of Chicago.

XXX

Having the Inspector with them had gone better than Ray expected. She had remained silent, for the most part, even though her eyes had been shooting daggers at him all day. Knowing he was annoying her had even been kind of fun, especially since she was at her most Ice Queenish.

He glanced at her in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were closed, and she was pretending to be asleep. He was sure he could find something to say to make her eyes open and her body tense in her seat. He didn't try, though. Instead, he let himself enjoy the sight of her in blue jeans, a small black jacket, and a white button up shirt. It was slightly transparent, and he could just barely make out the edges of her bra. He wondered if she knew.

“Pedestrian, Ray,” Fraser said, glancing at him.

“Huh?”

“On the crosswalk...”

Ray slammed on his brakes, stopping just short of the crosswalk. The person, halfway across, cursed and shook his fist. There was another curse, this one softly mumbled, from the backseat.

He turned to look at the Inspector, who was leaning forward and looked kind of rattled.

“You okay?”

“Where'd you learn how to drive?” she asked crossly. “Underwater?”

“Hey, I'm a good driver.”

“Yeah. In your dreams.”

“When I dream, it's not about driving.”

The words just slipped out, and, as she looked up, he quickly turned back to the front and stepped on the gas. Both of his Canadian friends grunted as they were thrown back in their seats.

“Well, you certainly don't think about it when you're awake, either.”

“Fraser.” Ray looked at his friend.

“Ray is an adequate driver most of the time, sir, though he has a penchant for breaking traffic laws.”

“Thank you.”

“Just, please, let me live through the day,” Thatcher replied.

“You can always ride in the trunk.”

He couldn't see the icy glare she threw at him, but he could feel it on the back of his neck. She didn't say anything else, though, and he was rather disappointed.

Suddenly, Ray's radio went off loudly, filling the car with details of a robbery in progress.

“Listen, Ray,” Fraser said. “That's right up here.”

“But, Fraser, we need to interview...”

“Shots have been fired.”

Ray sighed and pulled off of the road into a back alley next to where the robbery was taking place. He picked up his mic and answered.

“Vecchio. I'm on it,” he said simply. Fraser was looking at him with approval.

In the quiet, a gunshot rang out. He threw his car in park and shut it off. Fraser was already opening his door.

“Stay in the car,” Ray said to the Inspector.

She looked as if she were going to argue for a second, but she just nodded curtly. As he motioned to the wolf, he absently wondered what she was thinking. It was so hard to tell when her face was closed off like that.

Dief stepped over the Inspector's denim clad lap and jumped to the broken pavement beside Ray. He didn't even hesitate before running after Fraser. Ray paused to give the Inspector one more quick glance. She returned it levelly so Ray nodded once and took off after Dief.

XXX

She was annoyed. Annoyed and worried and rather anxious.

It had been several minutes since Fraser and Kowalski had disappeared around the front of the building. She hadn't heard or seen anything since, and she wished she knew what was going on in there.

Suddenly, there was more gunfire. She wiggled between the seats, ignoring how undignified she must look, to get in the front where she could see the building clearly. She settled behind the wheel, peering at the building, waiting for something to happen.

And then it did.

A tall man of about thirty, with dark hair and a gun in his right hand, burst out of a door into the alley. His eyes were rather wild, and his hands were shaking.

He looked desperately around, finding the only way out. It was right past Meg into the busy Chicago street. A street that, at noon on a Thursday, would be filled with men, women, and children going to lunch. Unsuspecting people that could easily be hurt by a man who had nothing to lose. Meg had seen a kindergarten class on the sidewalk near the alley, tied together like mountain climbers and walking so slowly they might have been standing still.

Without even thinking, she opened the door of the GTO and jumped out. She fumbled at her jacket, awkwardly opening her zipped pocket.

At the noise, the man whirled towards her, but she was ready for him, her service revolver in her hands.

“Stop right there,” she commanded. He would not be hurting anyone else today. Not while she had the power to stop it.

His own gun came up to point at her, his finger flexing, and she thought she was dead. Her stomach clenched in fear, but she pushed it away. There would be time for fear later...if she had a later.

He hesitated, not shooting, but she could see madness in his expression. It wouldn't be long before something spooked him and his gun went off.

“Put your gun down,” she said quietly.

“You put your gun down,” he said forcefully, gesturing at her with his.

“I can't do that. You've committed a crime, and it's my job to apprehend you.”

“A lady cop?” He spat on the ground. “Move out of the way, bitch, or I'm going to shoot you.”

“You could do that, I suppose.”

Meg could see the door he'd come out of over his shoulder. It opened and Ray and Fraser appeared. They both froze, and Meg didn't dare to acknowledge them. She knew that the criminal was so high strung that any noise from them, and he'd kill her. She really hoped they knew it too.

“Or,” she continued, still using her calmest voice, “you could give up and give me your gun. I'll tell the DA you cooperated, and you might get a lighter sentence.”

“You're crazy.”

“You know what the system does to criminals who kill police officers. Is that something you really want to face?”

“Move out of my way or I _will_ kill you,” he yelled.

“Then my partners over there will be forced to shoot you, and we'll both be dead. At least my way, you'll still be alive.”

She nodded at Fraser and Ray, and the crook turned. When he did, a white form came from nowhere and crashed into him. They both fell to the ground, and the man's gun went off as it flew from his hand. The bullet harmlessly chewed some stone off the building near where Fraser and Ray had been standing.

They weren't standing there anymore. Like Meg, they were now rushing towards the unarmed suspect, who was lying on the ground with an up close look at Diefenbaker's teeth. Meg hoped he enjoyed the view.

XXX

Ray grabbed the scumbag and hauled him to his feet. He seemed to have lost all his fight, and he meekly let Ray put him in the car.

The Ice Queen was calmly tucking her gun back in her pocket, and Fraser was regarding his superior officer solemnly.

After a moment, Fraser said, “You're not licensed to fire a firearm in the United States, sir.”

“I know that, Fraser. The gun wasn't loaded,” she said absently, her fingers fighting with her pocket's zipper.

Ray, coming back around the car, stopped. His mouth flew open, and his heart started beating wildly. He could feel the color drain from his face as the meaning of her words hit him.

Fraser tugged on his earlobe. “I see. Are you sure that was completely wise?”

She shrugged. “I figured he'd believe what he wanted to believe. He didn't shoot me, did he? I wasn't going to let him hurt anyone else.”

“But what about you?” Ray demanded, striding towards her as anger flooded his body. “What were you thinking? He could have killed you!”

His mind filled with the image. The Ice Queen on the ground. Blood blooming from her chest. Dark lashes permanently settled on pale cheeks. So still.

He took a shaky breath and continued, “Of all the irresponsible...”

She cut him off. “I've been trained for this kind of situation the same as you have. I am not some naive innocent bystander. I am a police officer. What would you have me do? Nothing? Do you think I should have cowered in the car while a madman took a gun onto a busy sidewalk? If you were in my shoes, would you have done any differently?”

“The Inspector has a point, Ray,” Fraser put in.

“Shut up, Fraser,” Ray told his friend without looking at him. His eyes still on Thatcher, he spat out, “That would depend.”

“On what?” she asked, so calm and cool that he had to ball his hands into fists.

“On whether my gun was loaded or not!”

“I'm sure you would have done anything in your power to stop this criminal, as I did.”

He glared at her. “You could have been shot. Dead. Bye, bye birdie.”

She matched his glare. “I still don't know why you're so angry. I just did what you would have.”

“It's different.”

Her voice was ice as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is it different? Because I'm a woman?”

Couldn't she see that wasn't it at all? In exasperation, Ray yelled, “It just is!”

“There's no need to yell at me,” she said, looking him directly in the eye. “You would have gotten what you wanted if he shot me.”

Ray sucked in his breath as the image of her lifeless body hit him again.

His mouth dry, he asked quietly, “You think I want you dead?”

“I'd be out of your hair then, wouldn't I?” Some heat had come back into her voice.

The anger roared up again. It came so hot and fast that it almost strangled him. He tried to tell himself that she did not know the things that had been going around in his mind lately, but it didn't work.

“Outta my...” he spluttered before ordering, “Get in the car.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You're being irrational, Detective.”

She was echoed by Fraser's, “Are you all right, Ray?”

“Both of you. Get. In. The. Car.” The Mounties shared a look, and it annoyed Ray that he didn't know what it meant. “Now.”

“Of course,” Fraser said.

The Inspector didn't say anything. She just went up to the car and grabbed the door handle.

Ray found himself growling, “You in the front.”

She sighed and lifted her hands. “But you told me I wasn't allowed to ride in the front.”

“You wouldn't have been sittin' by a man who wanted to kill you, then. In the front.”

She looked at him defiantly, and he thought she was going to refuse. Her eyes snapped, but she just said, “Fine.”

Ray ignored Fraser's puzzled expression as they all settled into the GTO.

When the doors slammed behind them, he found himself asking, “What are you doing with an empty gun in your pocket, anyway?”

“The last time I wore this jacket, I took the gun to be repaired and didn't get a chance to remove it.”

“Of course you did.” Mounties were going to be the death of him.

As Ray reached forward to put the key in the ignition, he noticed his hand was shaking. He looked at it in disbelief, hoping the Ice Queen hadn't noticed.

He glanced at her to see if she were watching. Her eyes were focused out the window, and her expression was thoughtful. He wondered what was going on in that extremely logical mind of hers and if she truly comprehended how close she had come to biting the big one.

Since she didn't appear to notice him, he let his gaze slide over her face. She really was beautiful. And alive. He was so glad that she was alive.

She turned her head while he was still studying her and asked, “Why are you staring at me, Detective?”

“I'm not,” he protested.

“You are.”

He grunted to hide his embarrassment. “Just reminding myself what a damn fool looks like.”

She frowned. “Get over yourself.”

Her words made him angry all over again. She was so infuriating! There she was all calm and rational and accusing when she had almost died. He met her glare and didn't know whether to shake her until her teeth rattled or to kiss her long and hard until she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where he stood on the matter of her dying.

He swallowed and forced his gaze to the key, afraid she would see his thoughts in his eyes. He focused his energy on starting the car, though another picture flashed through his mind. It was an image of him without his teeth after he had followed either of his impulses.

XXX

Maybe she'd been away from the field too long, she thought as she stared into the mirror above the sink in the station's dingy bathroom. The face staring back was white with delayed reaction. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and her teeth were clenched.

She was a Mountie. Chasing down criminals was not supposed to frighten her. She couldn't remember ever being afraid before she switched to Administration. Memories of facing down armed criminals were tinged with excitement and determination, not fear. Granted, on those occasions, her gun had always been loaded. And that had been before...

Her eyes went to either side, making completely sure she was alone, before she lifted a hand to her shirt. Almost against her will, it began probing, searching for and finding the circle of puckered flesh behind the fabric. Even now, ten years later, her memories of... _the incident_...were vague and dreamlike. There was Sam Thorne's furious face, telling her she was not allowed to die, dammit, and so much pain. A gray film had covered her eyes, and it felt like her ears were filled with cotton. Voices washed over her, but she couldn't understand what they were saying.

Meg shivered once before dropping her hand and pushing the memories back where they belonged.

She wondered if Ray and Fraser had been able to see how horrified she was after the suspect had been apprehended. She had tried to remain the stoic Inspector, but Ray had been so angry.

It had been during the paperwork afterwards, when they were back at the station, that Meg first felt her hands begin to shake. Her stomach had flipped, and a cold wave spread out from it, stealing over her limbs and taking over her mind.

She had slipped on her best mask and excused herself, but she had barely made it to the toilet on time. Her breakfast and her lunch had both ended up there, and maybe some meals from the day before, by the time she could straighten.

Meg was ashamed. Fraser would never have been afraid.

Angrily, she frowned at herself in the mirror. What kind of Mountie was she anyway? Her reflection didn't seem to have any kind of answer, so she sighed and splashed some cold water on her face.

It wasn't long after that that the shaking subsided, and she started feeling human again. She checked herself carefully in the mirror, and was pleased to see some color had come back to her cheeks. She was ready to face Ray and Fraser once more.

She was about to reach for the door, when it burst open and Frannie Vecchio tumbled inside. Her eyes were wide, and she looked upset. When she saw Meg, her arms reached for her and pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“Are you okay?” she demanded.

Meg had stiffened in surprise at the contact, but she relaxed at the caring in Frannie's voice.

“Yes. I'm okay,” she replied, awkwardly returning her friend's hug.

“I heard what happened. It must have been awful.”

She pulled away to peer into Meg's face. Meg swallowed and stubbornly kept it emotionless.

“He could have shot you.”

Meg nodded. “I know.”

“Were you afraid?”

She opened her mouth to lie, but Frannie was quickly becoming the best friend she'd ever had, and she couldn't. Quietly, so the sound wouldn't carry, she admitted, “Yes.”

“Of course you were. Anyone would be stupid not to be.”

“What?”

Understanding dawned on Frannie's face, and she frowned. “Oh, I forgot.”

“Forgot what, Frannie?” Meg asked in confusion.

“Inspector Thatcher is not supposed to feel fear. She's not supposed to feel pain. She's this inhuman ice princess living in this big red castle, and nothing ever touches her.”

“Frannie...”

“You listen to me. If you think anyone out there,” She waved towards the door, “would not have been afraid facing down a guy with a gun unarmed, you're bonkers.” Meg opened her mouth, but Frannie kept on talking. “Fear is nothing to be ashamed of, Meg Thatcher. It's what you do despite being afraid that shows who you really are.”

“It's fine, Frannie.”

“You're right. It is fine. Do you understand?” Meg had never seen her friend look so serious. Frannie continued quietly, “My brother, infuriating pain in the ass that he is, taught me that. When we were kids and Pop used to come after me, Ray used to step in between. He was always so terrified, but he did it every time to protect me. Every time. That's strength, Meg, not weakness.”

Meg felt incredibly touched. She reached out and gently put her hand on Frannie's arm.

“Thank you.”

Her friend just nodded. “I'm really glad you're okay.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

As the two of them left the bathroom, Meg found she was feeling much better. Frannie was right. Her fear hadn't crippled her. She had been able to put it aside and act as the situation demanded. Because of this, it was unimportant.

In the hallway, Fraser glanced at her, and she was able to meet his eyes squarely. Thanks to Frannie, she was no longer ashamed.

XXX

She had balls, he'd give her that. Ray didn't know of many men who would dare to do what she had done. He didn't think he could do it himself. If her bluff hadn't worked, she'd be dead now. The thought had finally stopped turning his stomach, though he had a feeling it would haunt him in his dreams.

He looked at her across his desk, calmly filling in papers as if she hadn't given him one of the worst scares of his life.

Her eyes had been brown steel. Not one thing about her face had given away her deception. Her Ice Queen mask had been good enough to fool the scumbag. Hell, it had been good enough to fool Ray and Fraser.

His gaze went over her face, and he found himself wondering when he had really started wanting to touch her. Not just to physically touch her, skimming tender fingers across her bare skin, but to reach her. Lately, he found he wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to see her face when it turned from logic to instinct as he softly brushed her lips with his. He wanted to break down all of her walls and discover the woman inside.

And he wasn't even allowed to show her.

All he could do was write her a note and hope it brought some light into her life. Anything else he did would be met with scorn because she would never believe he was sincerely reaching out to her. She thought he hated her.

The image hit him again suddenly. Her body falling. The blood. The life leaving her eyes. Her body going still. It hurt him to know she thought that terrible image would make him happy.

Thatcher lifted her eyes and met Ray's. She looked slightly startled to find him staring at her.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“Almost done?”

“Yes.”

He shifted in his seat. “Me and Fraser have to interview some witnesses when he gets back.” Fraser was out walking Dief.

“I'll be ready.”

“Okay.”

Not a twitch, not a flinch. Nothing to show anything unusual had happened. Ray wondered what was going on in her mind, and he found himself admiring her more than he would have believed possible just a few short weeks before.

XXX

After dropping Fraser off at the Consulate at the end of the day, Ray found himself alone in his car with Inspector Thatcher. She was cold and silent and, without Fraser there, Ray found it hard to speak. Usually, in these circumstances, he would tease her to get some sort of reaction, but, today, his heart wouldn't be in it.

“So,” he said after several long minutes of silence, “do we get a good report?”

She glanced at him but didn't answer at first. Finally, after studying his face enough to make him feel uncomfortable, she replied, “I never intended to give you a bad report, Detective. I knew you and Fraser work well together. I just needed to send Ottawa proof.”

“What do you think they'll say about your hijinks today?”

Her face went blank. “I don't know.”

“They should be happy, right? Mounties are supposed to do stupid things to save people.”

“Can we not talk about this, please?” Her expression tightened almost imperceptibly and, if he hadn't been watching her closely for the past two months, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

“You think you're going to get in trouble?”

“Please, Detective.”

“Sorry.” He lapsed into silence for a few seconds, but he couldn't stand being still and quiet long. “Today was okay.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You weren't in the way.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

“I'm just tryin' to say today wasn't a total disaster,” he growled.

“Perhaps.” This time, the sarcasm was gone. Then, she glanced out the windshield and said, “This is me, here.”

He looked at the house she was pointing at and decided he liked it. Ray had been expecting a sleek, modern apartment and not this homey little yellow house with white trim. It just confirmed what he had slowly been coming to realize—there was more to Inspector Thatcher than met the eye.

“Okay,” he told her, pulling up in front. “Here ya go, all safe and sound.”

“Thankfully,” she said dryly, taking off her seatbelt.

He grinned at her. “I _am_ a good driver.”

“Tell that to the man you almost plowed down on the sidewalk.”

His grin widened. “See you tomorrow, Inspector.”

Instead of the 'God, I hope not,' he was expecting, he got a polite, “Until tomorrow, Detective.”

He watched her get out of the car and walk up the sidewalk with the smile still on his face.

XXX

Sunday evening, Meg was in her office, yawning as she finished her report on Ray and Fraser. The thing had taken her all weekend, but she would be finished in plenty of time to send it to Ottawa the next day.

The words blurred in front of her, and she rubbed her eyes to clear them. How long had she been sitting there, anyway? Looking at her watch, she discovered that it had been four hours since her last break. No wonder she felt like crap.

One more break, she decided, getting up from her desk, and then maybe just a half an hour until the report was completed. After that, she could go home. Her bed and bath called to her seductively, but she didn't want to leave when the report was so close to being done.

She could have done it at home, she supposed, but at home there were too many distractions. Phone calls and the television and the new book she'd taken out of the library would all conspire against her. When she was working on such a tight deadline, she had discovered her office was the best place to be.

She grabbed her cup and headed into the hallway, sure that coffee would give her that extra little boost she needed.

The sound of a car starting in front of the Consulate caught her attention, and she frowned. The only person, besides her, who should even be near the Consulate on a Sunday was Fraser, and he was at the Vecchios' for dinner.

Puzzled, she crossed the foyer and made her way to the door. By the time she got there, there was no car. The street was mostly deserted.

Meg turned to go back inside, shivering in the damp cold of early spring, when she saw the mailbox lid was half open. Almost fearfully—she remembered Turnbull's misfortune of the week before—she flipped it open the rest of the way.

There was an envelope.

She stared at it in disbelief for a moment before she started to smile. It was just what she needed to brighten up her otherwise dull and dismal weekend.

She plucked the pink envelope out of the box, noting that the color seemed darker and somehow more real under the harsh outside light.

Because she was alone and had no reason to conceal it, she only went as far as the foyer. After placing her mug on Turnbull's desk, she slowly opened the envelope. In her eagerness, she ripped it slightly, making her hope she hadn't damaged the note inside.

Thankfully, it was in one piece. She unfolded it carefully and read words that made her wonder if he had somehow known how weak she had felt recently.

She read them again, letting them soak into her mind and into her skin.

 __

“Your strength makes you beautiful.  
Love, your secret admirer”

XXX

Ray had been wandering the Consulate, looking for Fraser or Turnbull without much success. The doors were unlocked, so he knew someone had to be there. His last resort was to check in with the Ice Queen.

As he approached, he was surprised to find the door open. With a familiarity born of actually living in her office for a couple of days a year before, he went in without hesitation.

He expected to find her at her desk working. He had no idea what she spent all of her time doing, but Ottawa seemed to always have her busy. In fact, she was sometimes still at the Consulate when he dropped Fraser off after having a late shift that ended at midnight. He had been noticing lately—at least since he'd really been looking--that she often seemed weary and almost sad, with dark circles under her eyes and no steel in her voice. It worried him a little, though he had no real right to worry about her.

The Inspector wasn't sitting behind her desk. Instead, she was on a chair, trying to reach the top of one of her bookcases. Her chair wobbled as she stretched her whole body in her vain efforts. Ray watched the action with both appreciation and interest.

Her chair wobbled more violently as she tried to stretch out even further, and a sudden premonition had Ray hurrying forward. She let out a startled squeak as her teetering chair tipped and she began to tumble backwards.

He was just in time to catch her body in his arms. She was trembling as she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Her legs were warm where only thin pantyhose separated skin from skin, and he was surprised at how little effort it took for him to hold her slight body. She was such an imposing figure that he sometimes forgot how small she was. He winced at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn't been there.

Ray bent his head slightly to ask her, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

She pulled away from him a little, her dark eyes large and frightened. Her face was pale, and she continued to tremble. He grinned at her, hoping to distract her from her sudden shock, and was gratified to see a blush wash away the whiteness of her cheeks.

“Didn't anybody ever tell you to use a ladder?” he continued, feeling her heartbeat start to slow and her trembling start to cease.

“I was just...” Her voice came out thin and shaky, though he knew she was trying to make it calm and emotionless.

“Falling. Yeah, I saw.”

Her flush deepened as she cleared her throat and glanced away. She looked softly vulnerable, and Ray had an urge to brush his lips across her cheek. He swallowed, forcing his eyes away from the gentle curve of her face and the darkness of her lashes.

After a moment of silence, she said, “You can put me down now, Detective.”

“What if I don't want to?” he replied teasingly, though part of him was completely serious.

She was looking at him again now. Their eyes met and emotions flitted over her face, ones he couldn't read, before she schooled her features and said sternly, “Don't be silly.”

The Inspector squirmed a little in his arms to prove her point. Ray almost chuckled in amusement when he realized she didn't notice she still clung to him.

“You're going to have to let me go first.”

Her eyes went from his face to her own arms, locked behind his neck.

“Oh,” she said, immediately dropping them.

Ray lowered her legs to the floor, instantly missing the warmth of her skin, and gently set her upright. She stumbled against him slightly, and he frowned, worried she'd been hurt.

“You all right?”

“Just a little shaken,” she admitted.

Ray thought it was more than a little if she actually said the words, and he wanted to reach out and steady her. Afraid it would make her angry, he didn't.

“Did you want something?” she continued.

Ray pushed away thoughts of holding her, touching her, to search his mind for the reason he'd come. Oh, yeah. “I'm lookin' for Fraser and Turnbull. You know, two big guys in red suits. You seen 'em?”

She gave him a strange look. “They are away at a symposium today. Didn't Fraser tell you?”

He scrunched up his face in thought. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Detective?”

She was standing so close to him that he could still feel the heat from her body. Her expression was open, and her tone was almost warm. Images went through his mind, hot and steamy, of all the things he would like her to do for him—and him for her. He clamped down those thoughts, trying to ignore how easy it would be to lean forward and touch her lips with his.

He was going crazy, his mind told him. Completely insane, and it would be in his own best interest to get the hell out of there.

He tried to say no, but his lips weren't connected to his brain. Instead, he found himself saying, “That depends. You free for lunch?”

She shifted away from him, her eyes widening. “What?”

“I came here looking for someone to have lunch with. You hungry?”

She choked out, “I...”

He didn't know why he had asked. She didn't really like him, and there was no way she'd want to spend an hour with him outside of work.

Giving her an easy out, he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “It's okay. You don't have to.”

Her dark eyes flashed dangerously, but her voice was calm as she replied, “That would be nice.”

Her acceptance was so completely unanticipated that Ray had no idea how to respond. She stood looking at him expectantly, so he searched his mind for what to say as he slid his hand from her shoulder, grazing her arm. His fingertips tingled as skin met skin, distracting him.

It took an elegant raise of her eyebrow for him to recall that he should be saying something back.

“Greatness. What are you hungry for?”

“I'll leave that up to you, Detective. Let me get my coat.”

XXX

Eating lunch with Ray wasn't all that bad, Meg reflected as she gazed at her companion across the table. His attention was all on his cheeseburger, and he tackled it with the same intensity he used in his work.

“I wanted to thank you,” she found herself saying, breaking the silence they had slipped into when the waitress brought their meal. Before that, it had been mostly work related chitchat, and Ray had been surprisingly polite.

He glanced up at her, putting his burger back on his plate.

“For earlier,” she clarified, “For...”

“Catching you?” His eyes twinkled though his face remained serious. “No problem.”

“But there might have been.”

“Hey, anything to get a beautiful woman in my arms.”

As always when he used that tone, she didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed.

“Yes, well, thank you anyway,” she answered, deciding to take the comment in the playful way it was offered.

“You're sure you're okay?” he asked, his eyes turning serious.

“Yes, of course, Detective. I didn't fall very far.” Heat came to her cheeks, so she hid it by taking a bite of her salad.

The whole episode had been slightly disturbing. It had felt rather pleasant being in Ray's arms, and this time she didn't even have the excuse of wine. He smelled nice, and, for at least an instant, her body seemed to think he was holding her for an entirely different reason.

“True,” he answered, popping a French fry in his mouth. “Any plans for the long weekend?”

“Long weekend?”

“Yeah, you know, Friday's Good Friday. Don't you have Friday and Monday off? Turnbull mentioned it.”

“That's this weekend?”

“Yup.”

Dammit. “I'll probably work anyway.”

He stopped eating to stare at her. “You're not going home for Easter?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It was a good question, one she really didn't have the answer to. Easter Sunday had always been a family gathering day, and she used to love it, but now it seemed she was always under scrutiny. 'Why aren't you married, Margaret?', 'Don't you want some children of your own?', and 'Are you still working in that office of yours?' Everyone seemed determined to tell her what was wrong with her life. It didn't help that the whole Thatcher family thought Meg's sister was perfect in her domesticity.

“There's too much to do,” she said coldly.

“You work too hard.”

This startled her so that she almost dropped the glass of water that was on its way to her lips. She never thought he noticed what she did one way or another.

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “I just think you should enjoy your time off.”

“And you have plans?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.

He sighed. “Church, church, and more church.”

“I didn't know you were religious, Detective.” In fact, the idea of him in church amused her. She could see him squirming in his pew impatiently, waiting for the service to end.

“I'm not. I promised Ma Vecchio I'd go. I couldn't say no. Everyone else is goin'.”

“Everyone else?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Fraser. Frannie. Turnbull.” He paused, and then asked, “You wanna come?”

She put down her glass again, still without taking a drink. “Me? I'm not even Catholic.”

He shrugged. “Neither is Fraser, but he's even in the choir with Frannie on special occasions. You'll get to hear them sing.”

“A choir?” Meg found she was interested in spite of herself. She wasn't sure if she believed in God, but there was something about the music of a choir...

“Sure.” He studied her face before asking carefully, “Do you sing, Inspector?”

She broke eye contact and pushed some lettuce around her plate. “No.”

“Okay.”

She didn't tell him that she loved to sing. She loved the way the music touched her and filled her with joy. Of course, she didn't do it in public, hadn't since she was about twenty, but, sometimes, when she was alone, she'd do it just to feel the pure form of happiness it brought.

“If you change your mind,” he was saying, “just let us know. Ma loves to have friends and family with her, especially at Easter and Christmas.”

“I'll think about it.”

He added slyly, “And I'm sure Fraser and Frannie can tell you how to try out, if you are interested in the choir.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but the offer was tempting. A chance to feel the music fill her on a regular basis was...nice. “I'm fine, Detective.”

“You'd be better if you didn't work so much.” Tired of his prying, she opened her mouth to tell him so, but he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at his watch. “We're outta time, Inspector. Back to work.”

Surprised, she forgot what she was going to say. Where had the hour gone? The one she had expected to be awkward and silent?

The Detective took enough money out of his wallet to cover both lunches and leave a generous tip. He threw it on the table and got up, looking at her expectantly.

“You don't have to pay for my...”

He interrupted her. “I asked you, didn't I?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, quit complainin' and come on.”

With an invitation like that, how could she refuse?

His next words were much kinder. “I had a nice lunch. Thanks for comin'.”

She was surprised to discover she had too.

XXX

“I can't believe he came a day early this week,” Frannie said, eyeing herself in a skirt Meg thought was several inches too short.

“Well, if you had a crazy Italian after you, you might want to avoid her too,” Meg said dryly.

Frannie glanced at her friend. “Ha, ha. Very funny...What do you think of this one?”

“It's very nice, but do you really want to expose that much thigh?”

Frannie thought about this for a minute, then admitted, “Yes.” She went back into the changing room, but Meg could still hear her clearly as she added, “No matter what I do, he always seems to know.”

“I think maybe you should give up, Frannie.”

“Are you kiddin'? I'm just as stubborn as he is. Besides, don't Mounties always get their man?”

Meg found herself laughing softly. “I don't really think this is the kind of situation they had in mind.”

“We'll see.” She came out in her own clothes with the short skirt in her hand. “You still want to know, right?”

She did. A lot. It had been two months, and she wanted to know if her admirer really cared about her the way it seemed. His words made her feel special, and she wondered if he knew.

“You have a plan?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. Still, it was better to know than be caught by surprise. Turnbull could attest to that.

“Not yet, but I'm thinking.” As they moved up to the cash register, she looked determined.

“Just no booby traps,” Meg reminded her.

Frannie waved a hand at her. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“So, do you want to go out for dinner?” Meg asked as Frannie paid. “My treat.”

“Your treat? Sure. Any reason you want to pay?”

Meg shrugged. “Just paying it forward.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Frannie's eyes searched her face curiously.

“Never mind.” There were some things her friend didn't need to know.

“Okay.” Then, after a pause. “You do know I'm going to get it out of you later, right?”

Meg frowned at her, but not very darkly. The truth was, she was probably right.

“So, what day do you think he'll come this time?” Frannie continued.

“Who?” Thinking about her lunch with Ray, Meg was confused by the change of subject.

Frannie rolled her eyes. “You know who. Do you think he'll come on Sunday? Will he stick to Monday? Or will he know you're not working and switch to Tuesday?”

Meg didn't tell her she was considering working Monday, and maybe Friday as well.

“I don't know. We'll have to wait and see. Maybe he's done, and I won't get a note at all.” Every week, Meg worried this was the case.

“Don't be silly. He obviously wants you.”

“Sometimes I wish he'd just tell me so.”

“Maybe he's scared.”

“Scared?” Meg stopped walking to look at her friend. She had considered shy, but not scared.

“Well, you are pretty intimidating.”

Meg chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe you're right, but I am who I am.”

“And you're great,” Frannie said firmly, “and he obviously knows it. Maybe he just doesn't want to get hurt.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed. “Where are we going to dinner?”

“I thought Remy's might be nice.” It was just an old diner, but it was immaculately kept, and the food was delicious.

“Sounds good. Speaking of food, have you decided about this weekend?”

When they met up after work, Frannie had exuberantly made her the same offer as Ray had at lunch, to accompany the Vecchios and their friends to services on Friday and Sunday. Frannie had also asked her to come to Sunday dinner. Meg had told her she'd think about it, not sure she was ready for someone else's family dinner when she still had mixed feelings about her own.

“I just don't know, Frannie.”

Frannie looked disappointed. “Do you have other plans?”

“Well...no.”

“Is it my family?”

“No, of course not,” Meg assured her. “I had a great time when you invited me a couple of months ago. I just...”

Frannie soaked this in. She studied Meg's face before saying, “You're going to be there on Sunday. Ma's table. Right between me and Ren.

“Frannie...”

“Meg...” she said in the same tone.

Meg sighed. “Fine. I'll be there.”

“Good. Now what was this you were saying about the reason you're buying me dinner?”

XXX

“As you know, Constable, our new staff arrives next Wednesday. I am relying on you to give them a proper orientation. Their training will also be your responsibility. You may have to cut down on your activities with Detective Vecchio for a couple of days, but, in the long run, this will free up more of your time.”

She eyed Fraser across his desk to find him listening intently. “Yes, sir.”

“Constable Turnbull will help, of course, but you are more familiar with the general running of things. Do you foresee any problems?”

“No, sir, I...”

The door burst open, spitting out a familiar blond detective. “Pitter Patter, let's get...Oh.”

Meg scowled. “Don't you ever knock, Detective?”

“Sorry, Inspector.”

“It's only common courtesy.”

“Yeah, I...”

“The door was closed.”

“I said I'm sorry. Do you want me to go out and knock?” His voice was tinged with annoyance.

“That won't be necessary. We're almost done here. Just try to remember to be a little more courteous in the future.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said flippantly.

Meg tried to hold on to her patience. Sometimes around Ray it was difficult. She gave him a very fake smile, which seemed to tickle him.

“Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“You don't have to leave on my account, Inspector,” he said.

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said dryly, brushing past him to go to the door.

“Oh, by the way...”

“Yes?” She looked up at him and noticed that his eyes were twinkling. Whatever he said next was going to be either extremely amusing or extremely annoying.

“Frannie asked me this morning about a print dusting kit. Any ideas why?”

Meg's mouth dropped open for less than a second before she snapped it shut. She tried to fight the color she felt come to her cheeks as she said in her best Inspector voice, “Why would I have any idea?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. You guys are thick as thieves. She might have told you.”

“Well, I can assure you, Detective, that she did not.” A truth Meg would be confronting her friend with in the near future. “Now, I really must get to work. We have new staff to prepare for.”

Ray's teasing look turned to a genuine smile. “Bout time.”

“Yes,” she agreed sincerely, “it is.”

She continued out the door, her mind concentrating more on Frannie's new plan than on her work.

XXX

Ray felt terrible. His lungs hurt and his body ached, and he was sure his face would be darkening with more than one bruise in the next couple of minutes. He didn't want to know what he looked like—especially when Fraser looked so unlike himself.

Fraser's normally pristine Serge was torn and covered with soot. There was a small gash on his forehead and a smudge of dirt down his cheek.

Behind the Mountie, the building they had barely escaped shot flames upward into the sky. Firemen were trying to contain the blaze, but if it were dark the building would have lit up the sky.

The heat was incredible. Ray could feel the sweat trickling down his back between his shoulder blades. Around them debris from the explosion covered the ground, and there were even tiny fires in it, snapping and looking for more to burn. Nearby, the door he had recently barged through lay cracked and broken, as if thrown by some giant hand.

The two of them were silent as they stood there, catching their breaths and listening to the excitement around them. When you came that close to being barbequed, sometimes there was nothing left to say.

“Where are they?”

Ray heard a familiar voice and turned to see the Ice Queen with Detective Huey. Her face looked pale and worried, and she had come out into the cool spring air without her jacket.

Huey pointed towards them, and Inspector Thatcher started making her way through the debris. She watched her feet, gracefully sidestepping anything she couldn't plow through. Her crunching steps seemed loud to Ray, even in all the chaos.

“Inspector,” Fraser greeted as she reached them.

She actually put a hand on Fraser's arm, showing how much she had been shaken. “Are you all right, Fraser?”

“Yes, sir,” he assured her calmly. “Just some minor scrapes and bruises.”

She sighed and squeezed his arm before turning to Ray. “And you, Detective? Are you hurt?”

He studied her face. She was trying to keep it professional, but he knew her well enough now to see that they had frightened her. Huey wouldn't have noticed. And neither would Dewey or Welsh. He wouldn't have noticed himself just a handful of weeks ago.

“I don't think so. Aches a little,” he told her.

She nodded, and he saw relief go through her eyes. It was quickly replaced by anger.

“What were you thinking? You both could have been killed.”

He let her words wash over him, surprised that some of her worry had been for him.

“I think you're mistaken in that assumption, ma'am,” Fraser said.

“Mistaken?” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you not just barely escape an exploding building?”

“Well, technically, yes, sir.”

“And you don't consider this life threatening?”

“We still had five seconds left, sir.”

“A whole five seconds.” She threw her hands up in disgust. Then, she turned to Ray. “I expect this kind of thing from Fraser, Detective, but I thought you had more sense.”

Not knowing what else to say, he tried a sincere, “I'm sorry, Inspector.”

“What?”

“We should have called for backup. I'm sorry.”

She just stared at him. Ray couldn't believe he'd rendered the Ice Queen speechless.

He glanced at Fraser, who was looking at him strangely. Ray shrugged in answer.

After a good ten seconds, the Ice Queen said, “Yes, well, you should be.” She looked as if she expected them to argue. When they didn't, she gave them each a stern look and continued, “Have either of you seen an EMT?”

“No, sir,” Fraser answered.

“Of course not. I want both of you to have your injuries looked at before you leave this site. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ray gave her a dark look. His body hurt, but he didn't need to see a doctor. Besides, she couldn't order him to do anything. He stuck his jaw out stubbornly and didn't answer.

She frowned. “Detective?”

“You're not my boss. You can't...”

This, of course, was the wrong thing to say. Her body stiffened, and she gave him a heated glare.

“Am I understood?” she asked quietly and firmly.

He looked at her, really looked at her, remembering how white her face had been when she first arrived. They had scared her. In fact, they'd probably scared her before—and it was a safe bet they'd do it more than once in the future. He could give her this. In fact, he suddenly wanted to give her this.

He was very careful to keep his voice steady and respectful as he answered gently, “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” She nodded, glancing once more into each of their faces. “See to it. Carry on.”

Ray watched her proudly walk away, seemingly untouched by all the dirt and chaos around her.

“Shall we, Ray?” Fraser asked.

“Huh?”

Fraser waved towards the EMTs.

“Oh, yeah. Sure...” Then, in amusement, he added, “Well, at least she didn't ask about the cost.”

XXX

Meg sat in her office, staring into space and holding a pink envelope in her hands.

It was Monday afternoon, but she was not behind her desk, and she wasn't wearing a suit. Instead, she was sitting in one of her guest chairs, and she was wearing comfortable jeans and a red RCMP t-shirt. This was because Frannie had refused to let her work, and the two of them had been all over town. Shopping. Again. Meg had never been one to go shopping, but she had recently found that it could be quite the adventure when one accompanied Francesca Vecchio.

Meg had to admit that she had enjoyed her whole weekend. She had ended up going to all of the services—mostly because she just couldn't say no when a car full of people...friends...stopped at her house to ask her if she wanted to. She surprised herself by taking pleasure in them, despite being unsure about her own faith, and the best part had been listening to the choir.

Dinner with the Vecchios had also been quite an experience. She was more prepared this time, but she was still taken by surprise by the sheer number of Vecchios and the motherly warm hug that Ma Vecchio had saved just for her. She finally understood why Fraser spent so much time with the family. Even having grown up in a vastly different household, eating with them had felt like home. Even Ray had been nice to her, his teasing more playful than usual.

“Have you opened it yet?” Frannie asked, coming in with the kit she had borrowed from Dewey in her hands.

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I'm just tired. You had me all over hell's half acre today.”

Frannie laughed. “I know the truth, Meg. You just want the romance to last longer.”

“Romance, huh?”

“Yep. I'm going out to sweep the box.”

“Don't you mean du...” She shook her head. “Never mind. Has it occurred to you that I might not want his fingerprints to be in the system?”

“Don't you want to know if he's a criminal?” Frannie countered.

“It might destroy some of the romance, as you call it.”

Frannie waved this away. “His prints might be in the system for an entirely different reason.”

“At least you're not trying to turn him blue.”

“Hey, you're going to thank me when all of this is over.”

“As long as I don't have to bail you out of jail.”

Frannie left the room laughing. Meg smiled a little herself and turned her attention back to her envelope. She held it up and studied the handwriting. Not exactly neat; more like a controlled messy. It was like an old friend by now.

She opened the envelope slowly, afraid she might rip it. There was a tingly feeling in her stomach as she slipped out the single piece of paper and carefully unfolded it to read the message inside.

  
_“There are times I want to forget everything and just take you in my arms and hold you.  
Love, your secret admirer”_   


Her smile widened and softened.

“If you'd come forward, maybe I'd let you,” she whispered as a sweet warmth filled her chest.

The banging of the outside door made her jump, and the note almost slipped from her fingers.

“I don't believe it!”

“What is it, Frannie?”

Her friend came in looking slightly bewildered.

“The only prints on the box at all belong to a kid.” Frannie had cleaned the rest of the fingerprints off on Thursday to make sure she had a clear canvas.

“A kid?”

“Yeah, really little fingers. I can't believe he used a kid again...” She looked highly disappointed.

“Don't be discouraged, Frannie. There's always next week.”

“Maybe I need some binoculars...” She saw the open note in Meg's hand. “Oh! What did it say?”

Reluctantly, Meg handed it to her and watched her eyes light up as she read it. She looked over the top and just grinned at Meg.

Meg sighed. “I know.”

XXX

Tuesday morning passed in a flurry of activity for Meg. She was trying to get everything ready and organized for her three—Three!--new employees. Two of them were only temps, but one of them, like Fraser and Turnbull, was permanent.

Turnbull had been helping her with some necessary forms, while Fraser had been out running some last minute errands. In the weeks since Fox's visit, she had found that she meant every word she said in anger about her Constables. She had come to depend on them, and she was glad that they were the ones that had been assigned to her.

Meg finished printing out some more forms for Constable Turnbull and got up to make her way to the foyer. Her tiny ice fairy watched her with approval, so she tapped it gently on the head with a finger.

She found Turnbull right where she had left him, diligently working. The room smelled of Pine Sol and lemon, showing that he had taken the time to do his cleaning rounds. She supposed he would find it a matter of pride to greet the new officers with a spotless and welcoming Consulate.

He looked up at her approach.

“Here are a few more...”

Meg trailed off as a piece of paper on his desk caught her eye. It was a simple, handwritten note on computer paper, scrawled as if the writer had been in a hurry. She felt a jolt in her belly as she recognized the handwriting. It was messier than she was used to, but the style was unmistakable.

Without thinking, she reached out for the note. “What is this, Turnbull?”

“What's what, sir?...Oh, Ray came by a few minutes ago, looking for Constable Fraser. Since Constable Fraser is out at the moment, I had the detective leave him a message.”

“Ray?” Meg dropped the note from numb fingers. Something that felt like a wrecking ball hit her in the chest, making it hard to breathe. She managed to force out, “Detective Vecchio wrote this note?”

“Yes, sir. See, he signed it right there.”

Her eyes went to the hastily scribbled, “Ray” at the bottom, and her stomach flipped. She felt the color drain from her face and had to swallow quickly as bile rose up her throat. Her world narrowed for a second, making her clench her teeth.

A joke. It was all a joke. She was going to be sick.

Turnbull jumped to his feet. “Are you all right, sir?”

“No...No, I'm not.” She swallowed again and hardened her voice, locking away the thoughts swirling around inside her head to examine when she was alone. “I just wanted to tell you that I am ill and will be leaving presently. Can I trust you not to destroy the Consulate in my absence?”

“Of course you can, Inspector.” Genuine concern showed in his expression. “Would you like me to drive you home?”

“No, I'll be fine, Constable.”

She turned from him, forcing her legs not to tremble and her hands not to shake. Holding on to her Inspector persona, she retreated to her office to grab her purse and coat. As she went around her desk to gather her things, she forced both her mind and her face to remain blank, but she had no control over her stomach. It rolled and clenched, determined to embarrass her by emptying itself on the rug. Holding her breath helped a little, so she did, avoiding the gaze of the little fairy she had come to love. That was a lie too. It had all been a lie.

As soon as she was alone in her car, she let out her breath in a heavy gust and gripped the wheel with white knuckled hands. Her vision blurred, and she blinked violently.

A lie. The words whispered through her mind again. The whole time, Ray had been playing a cruel joke on her and laughing behind her back. While she had believed someone cared for her, that someone had really looked at her, flaws and all, and had found her beautiful, desirable, and even lovable, Ray had probably been bragging about it to his friends. None of it had been real. No one really cared for her.

She had been a fool.

It hurt. A horrible, aching pain settled in her chest, squeezing like it wanted to crush her.

Meg blinked again, pushing back the shock and pain, refusing to let any evidence of it touch her cheek. She told herself sharply that it was her own fault for being naive.

She sat there for several minutes, staring out of her windshield at nothing. She didn't remember even the bullet that almost killed her hurting this much.

She clenched her teeth, forcing the pain into anger. How could Ray do this to her? He was supposed to be her friend. She would never forgive him for this.

XXX

Ray ran into Fraser in front of the Consulate. His friend was climbing the stairs with his arms full of packages.

“Hey, you're back!” Ray announced, actually opening the door for him.

“I was just buying office supplies, Ray.”

“I was here almost an hour ago. I left a note with Turnbull, but I thought I'd drop by on my way home, anyway...That's an awful lot of office supplies.”

“We need them for the new staff.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“Hello, Constable Fraser. Hello, Ray,” Turnbull greeted them cheerily.

“Did anything happy while I was shopping, Turnbull?” Fraser asked.

“Not much, sir. Detective Vecchio came and left you this note.” He held out a piece of paper that Fraser couldn't take because his hands were full.

Ray grinned and snatched the paper from Turnbull's hand. “It's all right. I'll tell him myself.”

“As you wish...Oh, and Inspector Thatcher has gone home with an unknown ailment.”

“She's sick?” Ray asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

“Yes, Ray. She was very pale, and her breathing was rapid.”

“When was this?” Fraser asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago. She came out to speak with me and turned completely white. I was afraid she would pass out, but she just asked me about Ray's note, then drove home.”

Ray went cold all over.

“My note?” he asked through a throat that was suddenly tight and rigid. “She saw my note?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. “Fraser, I have to go...I'll be back later.”

“Is there anything wrong, Ray?”

“No, I just remembered something. Something I gotta do.”

“Ray?”

He waved a hand behind him, saying, “Later.”

The Inspector had seen his note. The thought whirled around in his head as he rushed down the Consulate steps. She had to have recognized his handwriting. With her smarts and the number of times she'd seen it, there was no way she hadn't.

Ray forced himself to breathe as he started the GTO. He tried not to think about the pain she must be feeling. Why else would she have left like that? It had to have been his handwriting that made her sick. She knew him, and she would know this all started as a joke. She would think it was still a joke—a cruel, heartless joke meant to slice her to the quick. Imagining him laughing at her would rip her to shreds. He had seen how much those notes meant to her.

He was sorry. He was so sorry. The last thing he'd ever wanted to do was hurt her, even in the beginning, when he thought it was a joke. Now, the thought of hurting her pierced him like a bullet. But she wouldn't know that.

Ray lowered his head and beat it gently a couple of times against his steering wheel. Stupid. He had been so stupid. His chest ached for the hurt he was causing her.

She'd probably kill him, but he had to apologize. He had to tell her how sorry he was. If he could just touch her, hold her, he would, but he knew she'd never let him.

There had to be some way to make it up to her. Maybe it was time for a little honesty.

As he pulled away from the Consulate and out into traffic, he hoped he had the strength for what was to come. He had a feeling it would be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

XXX

Meg sat on her couch, staring at the fan of pink paper in front of her and wondering if she should rip it all into tiny, minuscule pieces, making the words so indecipherable that she could pretend they had never been. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so wounded.

And so humiliated.

She still couldn't understand why Ray had done this to her. She knew he sometimes didn't like her much, and, if she were being honest with herself, she had often been harsh with him. Still, Meg didn't think she'd ever done anything that could make him want to humiliate her.

In the end it was her own fault, she supposed. She had been the one to willingly dive into the dream. Usually, she wasn't so foolish. Her world was ordered and logical, and she had stopped believing in romance long before.

It was just that she had come to love the idea of someone out there, someone who cared enough to send her notes and gifts when she was sad; someone who wanted to hold her and love her beyond the 'my place or yours' of her most recent experiences. There had been something so appealing about the sweetness of her admirer's simple gestures that they had touched her deeply.

Meg almost didn't hear her doorbell. Her mind was a million miles away, and the sound was a distant distraction. It went off two more times before she sighed and got to her feet. Seeing anyone was the last thing she wanted right now, but she was not going to allow some stupid, heartless joke to take away her power.

Smoothing her face into a mask that showed no thought or emotion, she made her way to the door. Her only concession to the feelings hiding beneath the surface was a slight hesitation before she reached out and firmly turned the knob.

It was him. He was the last person she had expected, and her first impulse was to slam the door in his face.

Instead, she avoided his eyes and asked coldly, “What do you want, Detective?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“Haven't you done enough talking?” she said quietly, her words as sharp as blades.

She still couldn't look at him. She knew if she did her cheeks would burn and her insides would tremble. Meg refused to give him that much control, so she fixed her gaze on a point over his shoulder.

“That's what I need to talk to you about. Please, let me in.”

“Why should I?”

“Because maybe you don't want your neighbors to see us fighting on the doorstep.”

He had a point, she admitted, reluctantly standing aside to let him in. Prying ears didn't need to hear the words she wanted to say to him.

As the door closed behind him, he said, “About the notes, Inspector...”

She turned on him, sudden anger burning away the icy calm she was trying to maintain. Her eyes finally met his, and he took a small step back under the fire of her glare.

“Yes, about the notes.”

“I came to say...”

“That they weren't serious,” she said, taking a step closer, invading his personal space. She wanted him to be as uncomfortable as she was. “Yes, I know.”

He opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, cutting him off. “What I can't understand is why you did it.” The heat of her anger finally reached her words, snapping the control she had desperately been holding on to.

“How could you do something so cruel?” Her voice rose as she continued. “I believed in that person you created, Ray. I believed in the affection he felt for me. That was one hell of a joke. Tell me, did you enjoy it? Was it fun laughing behind my back? Did you tell Dewey and Huey how easy it was to pull one over on the Ice Queen? Did they laugh too? Is it still funny?”

She stopped for a moment, catching her breath. Her face felt hot enough to catch fire, and her hands were tightly clenched. She could no longer meet Ray's eyes. Mocking laughter would be more than she could bear.

“I never told anybody,” he mumbled.

When he didn't say anything more, she forced out the questions she really wanted to know the answers to. “Why did you want to hurt me? What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

She watched him, waiting for his answer. As she did, she firmly held on to the anger. It was the only thing that was keeping her from falling apart. She gritted her teeth, telling herself that she was Inspector Meg Thatcher, and she'd be damned if she'd let any man reduce her to tears.

“I don't hate you,” he said finally, his hands going deep in the pockets of his jeans. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes as much as she was avoiding his.

“Then why did you do it?” Her demand was sharp.

Ray shook his head and frowned slightly. “It was never supposed to go this far. It was supposed to be one note...and you weren't supposed to find out it was from me. I just wanted to see your reaction, but...”

Meg turned from him to stalk over to the coffee table. She grabbed the pile of letters she had been reading before he came and waved them at him.

“One note?” she asked dangerously.

He nodded.

She separated the first note from the rest. “ _I don't know how it's possible, but you get prettier each time I see you_ ,” she read, fury punctuating each word. Her hand shook as she threw the paper onto the table. The rest of the notes followed as she repeated familiar words that now sounded hollow to her ears. She said them slowly and deliberately, forcing Ray to hear the loving things he had written her. “ _I want to hear you laugh and know it was me that made it happen_...... _Sometimes, I wonder what the skin at the base of your throat tastes like_...... _You make being smart sexy_...... _When you're angry, your eyes flash with fire_......” The more she read, the more uncomfortable he looked. She thrust the words at him like knives, wanting to show him how deeply they could cut. “...... _I would love to trail my fingers across your cheek_...... _Your strength makes you beautiful_...... _There are times I want to forget everything and take you in my arms and hold you_......” She noticed that her voice had moved from anger to pain, and she tried to force it back. “How could you say these things to me? How could you make me believe someone felt these things?”

Ray raised his eyes. She couldn't read all of his expression, but he looked almost sad.

“How do you know someone doesn't feel those things?” he asked softly.

The words took her completely by surprise. “What?”

“How do you know?” he repeated.

She swallowed both her pain and anger and really looked at him for the first time since he'd arrived. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated before answering, “I sent the first note to get a reaction. I wanted to make the Ice Queen feel somethin'. Do somethin'. But I wasn't expecting...”

Some of her anger faded as she saw the naked honesty in his face. He wasn't laughing at her, she could see it now. There were no hints of amusement. Quietly, she asked, “Expecting what?”

“Your smile.”

The simple way he said it made a flutter go through her stomach. She waited for him to say more and, after a moment, he tore his eyes from her face and began to pace. With his pacing came more words.

“I told myself I was just continuing the joke the second time, but I was lyin' to myself. I just wanted to see you smile like that again. I knew it would only seem real if I told the truth, so I never lied, not to you.” He stopped pacing, and his eyes met hers fiercely. “I never lied to you.”

The rest of her anger melted as she processed this. The sincerity in his eyes made her breath catch as she absorbed the real meaning of what he was saying. Her mind went over the words she had just read, and her face heated as a blush raced across it.

“You...” She stopped and swallowed as her voice cracked. “You want to know what the skin at the base of my throat tastes like?”

Ray's gaze left hers, and he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry that I let it go on too long. Sorry I hurt you. I didn't want to.”

She let herself flop down on the couch. Her face was still flaming, and she couldn't meet Ray's eyes.

“It's okay...I think. You did hurt me,” Admitting this was hard, but she matched his honesty with her own, “but I'll survive. I always do.”

“That's just it,” he said, running a hand through his electrified hair. “I don't want you to survive.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she gave him her full attention.

“That's not what I meant. Look, Inspector,” He sat down on the other end of the couch, careful to keep a respectful distance between them. “Words don't come easy to me, not like they do you and Fraser. I don't always say the right thing. I just...well, I want you to more than survive. I want you to be happy. I want you to smile like...like that. Smile and mean it. The Ice Queen must be tired. She never gets a break.”

Meg regarded him solemnly, not sure what to say or how to feel. She had been on an emotional roller coaster for the past hour, and she had no idea when or where the ride would be over. Still, here was a man who had admitted that he wanted her to be happy and that he longed to caress her face and hold her. Was it so terrible that this man was Ray?

Of course not, she decided. She had always liked him, and his notes had made her feel wanted and cherished in a way she hadn't in a long time.

Meg reached out to gently place her hand on his. It warm and larger than she'd expected, with long, slim fingers. He glanced at her, catching her hand and twining their fingers together. It only lasted an instant, but Meg was left with a feeling of comfort and affection.

Then his hand was gone, and he was standing.

“I should go,” he said awkwardly.

“If you want,” she replied, wondering how she'd be able to face him, knowing he had intimate thoughts about her, and wondering if, now that they were out in the open, he would act on those thoughts. “Thank you for coming...for not letting me believe you were laughing at me.”

He nodded, just a slight bob of his head. Then, his eyes twinkled briefly as he replied, “Thank you for not killin' me.”

“You're welcome, Detective.” She got to her feet and walked him to the door. The whole time, she wanted to ask him what they were supposed to do now. She didn't want to push and break the shaky peace between them, so she remained silent.

As he opened the door to go, he turned to her and said, “I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

He brushed his fingers softly over the back of her wrist, so lightly it was more the suggestion of a touch than an actual touch. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

She watched him walk towards his car, feeling as if her world had turned inside out. Even so, she rather liked the feeling, she thought as she went in the house to put her notes back in their envelopes.

XXX

“I can't believe it was Ray,” Frannie said for the third time in fifteen minutes.

She had shown up at Meg's door a couple of hours after Ray left with Chinese food in one hand and a bag of movies in the other. Meg had been surprised to see her, but Frannie explained that her Ma was out of town visiting Frannie's other brother, John, who didn't get to come home for Easter. Since Meg had wanted a break from the voices in her head, she had gladly let her friend in. The only problem was, Frannie was more perceptive than anyone ever gave her credit for, and she had soon bullied a severely edited version of the day's events from Meg.

“I was rather surprised myself,” Meg admitted, absently stirring her rice around in her plate.

“So, what'd he say?”

Meg frowned, looking at her food and not Frannie. “He said he didn't do it to be a jerk.”

Frannie shook her head. “No wonder he knew every move I made.”

A ghost of a smile touched Meg's lips. “Yes.”

Frannie looked at Meg and asked her a question she didn't know how to answer. “So, why did he do it?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” She used a tone that usually silenced her employees. Unfortunately, Frannie wasn't one of her Constables.

“Did he really mean it?” she asked, her eyes widening.

Meg ran a tired hand over her forehead. “Yes and no, I think.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

Frannie flopped back against the couch. “So, did he kiss you?”

“No, of course not.”

“What happened?”

“He told me he wrote the notes, apologized, and then left.”

“That's it?”

“Pretty much.”

Frannie groaned.

“What?”

“This can't be how it ends.”

Meg shrugged. “That's up to him, I guess.”

“Did you ask him if he wanted to...” She moved her hands. “...you know...”

Meg stared at her, wondering if her friend meant what she thought she meant. After a pause, she said, “Definitely not.”

“And what do you want?”

Meg thought about Ray and the way he had looked at her. She thought about the way it had felt the couple of times she had found herself in his arms. He was obnoxious, sarcastic, and juvenile, but he was also sweet and loving and sensitive.

“I don't know,” she said honestly.

Frannie absorbed this. “Okay... _Romancing the Stone_ , _City of Angels_ , or _My Best Friend's Wedding_?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Which movie do you want to watch?”

Meg sighed with relief at being let off the hook. “You pick.”

“Well,” Frannie said, fishing in her bag, “Since I've always been a sucker for stories where the guy and girl start out fighting and then end up falling in love...”

XXX

Wednesday was a blur. Meg was so busy, she had no time to think of anything but the new staff. She even missed lunch, though she let her five Constables go. Turnbull was thoughtful enough to bring her something back, so she was able to eat and work at the same time.

Meg found she was pleased with the new Constables. They seemed respectful, and Constable Elizabeth Keller, her new permanent employee, seemed intelligent and level headed. Meg hoped that meant she would have at least one member of her staff that didn't drive her crazy on a daily basis.

By the time six o'clock came, she was exhausted. Everyone had gone home, and only she and Fraser were left in the building.

Alone, she allowed herself to rub her eyes before getting slowly out of her chair. After the bustle of the day, the silence was almost deafening as she grabbed her jacket and purse. As had become her ritual, she touched the ice fairy on the head with a gentle finger to say good-bye.

She shut off her office light and closed the door. Turning, she jumped when she found someone standing in the foyer.

“Hello, Detective. You startled me.”

She looked at him but avoided his eyes, remembering their last meeting

“Hello, Inspector.” His tone made it almost a question.

“I suppose you're here for Constable Fraser.”

“Yeah. I figured I'd wait 'til everyone was gone. Been busy?”

“Very,” she told him.

“I figured.”

“You can just go on through,” she said after a moment of awkward silence.

“Thanks.”

When he didn't move right away, her eyes flicked to his, and she found that he was watching her. Her face flamed as their gazes locked. She was gratified to see a slight blush tinge his features too as she tore her eyes away.

He cleared his throat. “Um...I'll just...”

She nodded. “Of course. Just make sure Fraser's back in one piece in time for his shift tomorrow.”

“So, if he's in tiny pieces, I should just leave him at the station?” Ray asked, awkward embarrassment giving way to amusement.

Meg opened her mouth and then closed it. He chuckled, and she relaxed enough to give him an exaggerated eyeroll. “In that case, use your best discretion.”

He winked at her and said, “See ya, Inspector.”

“Good-bye, Ray.”

She watched him make his way towards Fraser's office. He had his own kind of fluid grace, not as perfect as Fraser's, but charming all the same.

With a shake of her head, she pulled on her jacket and hurried out into the cold and rainy April evening, trying to push the detective to the back of her mind. She didn't quite succeed.

XXX

Ray was working on a puzzling case when he felt eyes on him. He looked up to see Frannie standing in front of his desk with her hands on her hips, scowling at him darkly.

“What?”

“So, that's it?” she demanded.

“Come again?”

She started pacing in front of his desk. “It's been over a week already. So, what, you just write those kind of notes and then nothing?”

He stood up, determined to walk away. “This is none of your business, Frannie. Stay out of it.”

“It's not none of my business. You kept this from me too, and don't think I'll forget it.”

He sighed and started walking. She followed him, of course.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked pointedly.

“There's nothing to do,” he told her, wandering into the empty break room. “It's over.”

“So, why'd you do it?”

“I'm not talkin' about this with you.”

“Tell me, Ray. Do you like Meg or not?”

He walked over to the soda machine and punched the buttons a little harder than he needed to. “Never mind, Frannie.”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“No.”

She let out a loud sigh and threw her hands in the air. “Bonkers! You're both bonkers.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She didn't answer him. He took a swig of his Coke and watched her flounce out.

Didn't she see what he thought about the whole thing didn't matter? It didn't matter that he'd come to care for the Inspector very much. All that mattered was that his Ice Queen might not hate him, but she certainly didn't care back. He was not the man she'd pictured when she read the notes. As a matter of fact, he was so far from that man that she had never even considered him a possibility.

The only thing to do was to ignore his feelings and hope Inspector Thatcher forgot all about them.

XXX

Meg had no idea what she was doing. As she stood on the Vecchios' front step, shivering in the cool air, she was tempted to turn around and get back in her car. She was so tempted that she had been standing there for five minutes, and she hadn't even rung the doorbell yet.

It was nearly another full minute before she realized she was being a moron. She was reaching forward to ring the bell when the door opened. Meg gasped in surprise.

“Hello, Inspector. I thought that was you I saw lurking out there.” Ray, the last person she expected to be there on a Saturday morning, was standing on the other side of the door in just his pajama bottoms, eating a banana.

“Good morning, Detective,” she said, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his face.

The problem was, over the past week and a half, Meg had been thinking about Ray a lot. She'd been thinking about the notes and the way they made her feel, and she'd been thinking about the way he could amuse or irritate her with just a word or a look. Now that she knew he had feelings for her, she found her awareness of him had heightened, and she was always conscious of where he was and what he was doing when they were in a room together. She found herself wondering if he thought about her and what she would do or say if he approached her about acting on his feelings.

“You're here early.” He moved out of the way so she could come in out of the cold.

“So are you.”

“Yeah. I was helping Ma with some repairs last night and slept over.” He took a bite of his banana, then pointed it at her. “Bite?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Of my banana.”

“Uh...no, thank you, Detective. I've eaten.”

He shrugged, forcing her eyes to his bare skin. She let them linger for just a second before snapping them back to his face.

“Up to you. Don't say I didn't offer. Who you looking for? Frannie? Turnbull? Ma? Mikey?”

“Mikey's here?” she asked with a smile, remembering the adorable little boy who had joyfully spent Easter Sunday bouncing between Ray and Fraser. Then, she suddenly clued in to something else Ray had said. “Turnbull's here?”

So much for her approaching Frannie in secret.

“Ma loves him and lets him sleep over.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly. This was more than she really wanted to know about Turnbull. “Is Frannie up?”

“Yeah. She's in the kitchen eatin' breakfast.”

Meg nodded and made her way to the kitchen. Ray followed her. She could hear his bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor behind her.

She looked over her shoulder. “Don't you have anything better to do than follow me?”

“Nope.”

She entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Vecchio, Frannie, and Turnbull at the table. Frannie was in a small pink nightdress, but both her mother and her Constable looked as if they'd been up for hours. Meg was grateful for this at least; seeing Turnbull in his pajamas would have been a stressful event for both of them.

Turnbull saw her first and smiled a broad, welcoming smile. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Turnbull,” she answered primly, wincing internally at the harsh way it sounded in this friendly house.

Frannie turned. “Hey, Meg.”

Ma Vecchio rose from her seat saying, “You're just in time for breakfast. Sit. Eat.”

For some reason, Frannie's mother was always trying to feed her.

“No, thank you. I'm not hungry.”

Mrs. Vecchio made a sound of disbelief and led Meg to the table. Meg looked helplessly at Frannie, who just grinned.

“Ray, get our guest a plate,” Mrs. Vecchio instructed.

“Sure. What would you like, Meg? Eggs? Bacon? Pancakes? French toast? We've got lots left.”

Meg was momentarily distracted by hearing him say her first name. He smiled at her impishly, and she could feel three other pairs of eyes on her.

“Surprise me,” she told him, breaking eye contact.

“You got it.”

“So, what's up?” Frannie asked, chewing on a piece of bacon.

“Well...” She shifted in discomfort.

Frannie reached across the table to touch Meg's wrist. “It's okay. We can talk later.”

That would be the coward's way, Meg told herself firmly before replying, “It's all right, Frannie. I was just wondering...”

Frannie watched her, waiting for several seconds before repeating, “Wondering?”

“I'm not Catholic, and I'm not planning on converting any time soon, though the services at Easter were lovely, but Fraser isn't either, and he was able to, so I thought maybe...” The words came out all in an undignified rush. Meg stopped suddenly, horrified at the way she sounded.

Frannie just looked at her blankly, but Turnbull's face lit up in understanding. “Are you talking about the choir, sir?”

Both surprised and touched by his aid, she nodded. “Yes, that's it exactly. Do you think your priest would allow me to join the choir?”

“You sing?” Frannie asked.

“A little,” she admitted, looking up as Ray brought her plate over. It was so full that the food was trying to fall off the side. She knew she'd never eat it all in a million years.

“Thank you, Detective.”

“You're welcome,” he said, taking the chair next to hers.

“I'm sure Father Behan would welcome another voice,” Mrs. Vecchio assured her kindly, taking Frannie's plate and glass from the table.

“I'll ask him tomorrow,” Frannie promised.

“Good.” Meg's voice came out sounding clipped again, probably due to her discomfort. She softened it by including a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Turnbull got up to help Mrs. Vecchio clear the table and start the dishes. He moved differently here, she noted. Graceful. Relaxed. Frannie was good for him.

“If you're gonna eat that, you'd better get started,” Ray teased, poking her arm gently.

Meg looked down at her plate. “I'm never going to be able to eat this.”

“Just eat what you want,” Frannie told her, snatching a piece of bacon from the plate.

“Don't worry, Inspector,” Ray said cheerily, also taking a piece of bacon. “I'll help you eat it.”

She felt like shoving the whole plate at him as punishment for overloading it, but she didn't want to offend Mrs. Vecchio. Instead, she picked up the fork he gave her and dug into what turned out to be one of the best breakfasts she'd had in a long time.

XXX

Meg sat at her desk on Monday afternoon feeling sad and alone. The Consulate was full of activity and voices as her Constables went about their activities, but none of it seemed to affect her.

Her office door was open and, every once in awhile, someone would come in, but she still felt rather lonely.

She couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. There was an ache in her chest, and she had no idea where it came from. She tried not to take it out on her staff, but she knew several of her answers were sharp and waspish.

It wasn't until after two o'clock that it hit her. It was Monday. This was the second Monday since her confrontation with Ray, and the second one without a sweet note in her mailbox to make her smile. It was the note that she was missing, and she was missing it a lot.

It wasn't just the note, of course. It was the anticipation that made her, a woman who was normally as steady as stone, almost giddy. The little flutter in her stomach as she read the words of someone who found her desirable and lovable. The warmth of knowing that someone cared.

The notes themselves had touched her in a way she hadn't been touched in a long time and, as she sat there feeling the ache of missing something she'd come to love, she wanted to be touched that way again.

As she realized this, an image of Ray came to her mind. She smiled as she thought of his slim, wiry body and insolent grin. His hair, of course, was standing straight up, as if something had shocked him, and a toothpick hung lazily from his lips.

What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Meg wished she knew the answers. Since the day she'd found out he was writing the notes, they had gone back to their old routine. He didn't act like a man who had admitted he wanted to kiss her neck and hold her. She had been watching him carefully for any signs.

Maybe he liked the idea of her better than the reality, she thought with a sigh. Maybe from afar, he found her attractive, but, when forced to interact with her, he'd found her lacking. If that were the case, Meg wished he'd just tell her instead of leaving her in this unending cycle of thoughts. If she had any idea about his intentions, then she wouldn't be able to make a fool of herself.

Somewhere, over the course of the past two weeks, Meg had discovered that she liked that the notes came from Ray. In fact, she liked Ray himself, and she was starting to like him more every day. Somehow, his notes had broken through that wall she'd built to protect herself and lodged themselves in her heart.

“So, what do you think?” she asked her ice fairy softly, her words still sounding loud in the silent room. “Do you think he'll ever tell me what he wants?”

The little fairy's intelligent eyes told Meg that all she had to do was ask. If she did, maybe Ray would touch her again—her heart, her soul, her mind. Her skin.

The last thought took her by surprise, and the accompanying visual made her blush. Still, she let the thought of his fingers trailing down her naked spine linger. It was one she had been secretly enjoying since the night of the ball.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a slight knock on her door. Her blush deepened as Ray appeared.

“Hey, Inspector. You seen Fraser?” he asked.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Wh...what?”

“Fraser. You seen him?”

“He's...upstairs with Constable...Constable Keller...in the bedroom...”

Meg wanted to sink into the floor when the expression on Ray's face made her realize what she'd said.

“Restocking the ensuite and changing the sheets,” she hastened to add.

“Can I go up?”

“Yes.” As he turned away, she found herself wanting to call him back.

She wanted to ask him if he had been thinking of her and what he would write if he gave her another note. The words were there, hovering on her lips, but she let him go without voicing them.

 _Crazy_ , she thought as she watched him walk away. _I'm going crazy._

And it was all Ray's fault.

XXX

She was distracted by his hands.

He wasn't doing anything interesting with them, just playing with a pen, rolling it between his fingers and tapping it on the conference table. Still, it was enough that Meg had no idea what Lieutenant Welsh was saying. She heard something about the Prime Minister, but the rest of it was lost.

Meg looked up from Ray's hands to ask, “Pardon?”

“I asked if Vecchio, Hodgeson, and Beckett are acceptable for the Prime Minister's security detail...Are you all right, Inspector?”

“Yes, of course. I'm fine.” She answered, schooling her features. “Those officers are acceptable. We should see about scheduling a meeting. The three of them with Fraser, Keller, and me.”

“Constable Keller is going to be on the detail?” Ray asked.

Her eyes went from Welsh's face to his. “Do you have a problem with Constable Keller?”

“I don't know her very well.”

“Well, I don't know Hodgeson or Beckett. You'll just have to trust me, Detective.”

He looked at her levelly for a couple of seconds, his eyes searching hers. Wondering what he saw there made her uncomfortable. “Okay.”

“You're giving in that easily?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Who are you, and what have you done with Ray?”

He frowned. “I trust you, Inspector.”

“Inspector, I think Ray's problems with Constable Keller could be solved with a brief meeting between the two of them. Maybe over lunch. That way, he'll be able to see that she is a competent, intelligent officer,” Fraser suggested.

Both Meg and Ray looked at him.

“What?” Ray asked.

“A working lunch,” Fraser qualified, glancing at Ray and then at Meg. There was something in his eyes, and she wondered how much he really saw. “I would be there to break the ice, of course.”

Meg relaxed, not even understanding why Fraser's suggestion made her tense. “That might be a good idea, Constable.”

Ray shrugged. “Why not?”

“Good,” Welsh grunted. “Make nice with the new Constable. I want you to be a well-oiled machine by the time the Prime Minister arrives.”

“Okay.”

Ray started playing with his pen again, weaving it through his fingers. Without thinking, Meg reached across the narrow table and placed her hand over his.

“Please, don't do that.”

His eyes widened and his body went completely still. Her breath caught at the feel of his skin against hers. Faintly, she could hear Fraser engaging Welsh in some inane conversation, but most of her attention was on the point where flesh met flesh.

His gaze went from her face to their hands. Hers had been over his for too long now, but she didn't want to move it. She swallowed and forced it into motion, sliding her fingers over his instead of lifting them. They tingled at the contact, but she kept her face completely blank.

“Was there anything else, Inspector?” Welsh asked her.

“No, I don't think so. Send over any paperwork you need me to sign with Frannie. We're supposed to have lunch tomorrow.”

“Will do.” He stood up. “Coming, Vecchio?”

“Huh?...No. I think Fraser and I are going to interview Bartowski.”

“All right. Check in before you go home.”

He wandered out and Ray and Fraser go to their feet. Meg dropped her eyes to the table, pretending to organize her papers. She didn't look up until the two men had left, but, even then, her hand was still tingling from the feel of Ray's skin.

XXX

Ray was sitting at his desk a couple of days later when the Ice Queen walked in. He looked up to see her there, dressed in a simple dark green business suit and looking every inch a lady.

Her face was stormy but determined, though she tried to hide it behind her usual calm mask. Still, he'd seen behind it too many times over the past three months for a hastily erected one to fool him.

He watched her gaze search the bullpen until it landed on him. It stopped and, suddenly, her small body was in motion.

He wondered what he'd done this time. Had he offended Liz--Constable Keller--during their lunch? Had Inspector Thatcher found out about some outrageous scheme or plot of Fraser's that she had no idea about before? Had she read his thoughts the other day and discovered exactly how much willpower it had taken him not to catch her hand so he could caress it? Whatever it was, he knew from the look in her eye that he was in trouble.

Detectives, criminals, and civilians alike left her a path as she approached him. One large man, bigger than Turnbull with a snake tattoo on his bald head, reached for her. She froze him with her iciest glare, and his hand never connected.

“Detective,” her voice was low and carefully controlled. “Is there somewhere I can speak to you alone?”

He probably had better chances of living if they stayed in the bullpen, but he didn't think he wanted anyone else to hear the things she was probably going to yell at him. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were flashing.

“Yeah, sure, Inspector,” he told her, getting up from his seat. “Interview One should be open.”

She nodded and followed him closely, as if afraid that he would run. Ray glanced at her, but she was looking straight ahead, her face unreadable.

He opened the door for her, and she almost brushed him as she went inside. It momentarily distracted him from her anger as his body informed him that almost wasn't close enough. By the time he closed the door, she had whirled to face him.

“What can I do for you today, Inspector Thatcher?” he asked.

Her eyes were still flashing as they met his. She stood stiffly, and he expected her hands to go to her hips any second.

“You honestly don't know why I'm here?” she asked.

“I have no idea.”

“No, of course not. You wouldn't, would you?”

Here it comes, he told himself as he saw the words gathering behind her heated gaze.

“I'm not made of ice, you know,” she started, raising her chin in an almost defiant gesture. “Not really. You might think I am, but I've got feelings. Just because I'm not out there, throwing them around for all to see, doesn't mean they aren't inside of me. It doesn't mean I can't be hurt. It doesn't mean I can't feel joy, either. Somehow, I think you've forgotten that. Otherwise, how could you have done this to me?” The words came out quickly and full of fire. “Your letters meant something to me. I came to enjoy them and even to anticipate them. They made me smile. In them, you told me that you cared about me, that you wanted to hold me. Then, you disappeared. I mean, I know that you call me the Ice Queen, but...”

Finally, in frustration, Ray cut across her flow of words. “Stop yelling at me and tell me what you want.”

She stopped in mid-sentence, her teeth audibly clicking together as she snapped her mouth shut. Her face was flushed, and she seemed slightly short of breath.

Ray was filled with confusion and irritation. That's what all this was about? He thought they were past the whole secret admirer thing. After all, he'd already apologized for the notes and tried to push his feelings way into the back of his mind. Why did she have to come and shove it all up into his face? What else did she expect him to do?

When she remained silent, he demanded, “What do you want from me, Inspector?”

Her expression changed, and she paled slightly. Suddenly, she looked more afraid than angry.

The breath caught in his throat as she swallowed and said softly, “I want you to touch me, Ray.”

She wanted him to touch her? He could do that. After all, that's what he'd really wanted since the beginning.

Disbelief and hope swirled around inside of him as his heart started beating wildly in his chest. He took a tentative step forward, afraid that any quick moves from him would have her retreating back behind her wall. Her body tensed further as she watched him approach, and she looked as if she might physically run as well as mentally.

“Meg?” he whispered.

Slowly, he brought his hand up and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. Her skin was soft against his fingers, like silk. She closed her eyes and sighed, her body finally relaxing. He moved closer, emboldened by her response, and turned his hand so he could cup her face. His thumb stroked gently as his heart continued to pound.

She opened her eyes, and he was lost in brown and green and gold. How could eyes have so many textures?

Her voice was warm as she asked, “And what do you want, Ray?”

He knew the answer immediately, had known it somewhere inside himself since the first note. Unable to keep the smile from his face, he leaned forward until his nose touched hers. He could feel her breath on his face, gentle and sweet. Her scent, always so intoxicating, surrounded him like an embrace.

“I want to melt the Ice Queen,” he told her quietly, barely giving the words sound, but trying to infuse them with all of the feelings that had been growing inside him for almost three months.

Her eyes widened, intoxicating him further. Unable to resist, he brushed her lips briefly with his. He felt the connection as a jolt in his guts, and one just wasn't enough. She made a soft little sound in her throat as he kissed her again.

“Oh, sorry!”

Ray's heart jerked wildly as the loud words filled the room. Meg jumped from him, her face flaming.

Frannie was standing at the door with her arms full of files. Her mouth was open in shock.

“We were just...” Meg said quickly.

“I know!” Frannie exclaimed, recovering enough for her face to break into a wide smile. “It's about time!”

“Really, Frannie...”

“But, if you're gonna make out in here, you should lock the door.”

“We weren't making out,” Ray said, amused in spite of himself.

“Whatever you say, brother of mine. Here, I'll just go out now, shall I? And leave you alone to...not make out.”

“Did you want me for something?”

She waved at him as she went out, pulling the door closed behind her. “It'll keep.”

Once they were alone again, Ray glanced at Meg. Her face was still red, but she didn't look angry. In fact, she looked a little shy as her gaze met his.

“Frannie,” he said.

“I know. She's the best friend I've ever had, but sometimes she makes me nuts.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tentatively, not sure if she'd take back her words, he reached out and touched her hand with his fingers. She caught them up and held them, twining hers with his. He squeezed her hand gently, and she squeezed back, giving him her answer.

Encouraged, he tugged her closer. With his free hand, he traced the line of her jaw and then the graceful curve of her neck. He heard her breath catch, but she didn't say a word.

“How about dinner?” he asked to distract himself from a sudden longing to follow the same path with his lips.

“Dinner?” she asked absently, her voice a little shaky.

“Yeah, at my place. I'll cook.”

Her face brightened in amusement. “You cook?”

“Of course I cook. And I'm damn good at it.”

She laughed briefly, a wonderful, throaty sound that he immediately knew he wanted to hear again. “I've never had a man cook for me before.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It's a yes, Det...” She stopped, correcting herself. “Ray.”

“I'm glad...Meg.”

She squeezed his hand again before letting go. “I should go back to work.”

He had forgotten they were supposed to be working.

“Oh. Yeah. Work.”

She nodded and turned towards the door.

“Before you go,” he said, “I have to warn you...”

Meg faced him, her hand on the knob, waiting.

“Now that you've given me permission to touch you, I don't think I'm going to be able to stop.”

Several emotions flitted quickly over her face. He was suddenly afraid he'd pushed her too far too fast. Her face turned very serious, and he thought she was going to tell him to forget the whole thing.

Instead, she said, in a voice so soft it barely reached him, “I don't have a problem with that.”

The look in her eyes made him want to cross the room and take her in his arms to show her what a real kiss with him was like.

It took all of his willpower to stay where he was and say, “Good. I'll see you tonight.”

“Around seven?”

“Around seven.”

She nodded. “I'll be there.”

He continued to watch the door, even after she left. His lips could still taste her, and his hands could still feel her skin. There had been no ice to her, just warm gentleness and vulnerability. How could he have ever thought she was an Ice Queen? Maybe he was the one who had been frozen.

Finally, he smiled and followed her out the door. His mind whirled with thoughts for the night ahead, and he knew he'd never be able to work. All he'd be able to think about was touching her again and kissing her again and, maybe, seeing her smile that special smile, this time just for him.

As he sat at his desk, he didn't even try to finish his work. Instead, he took a piece of paper from his drawer and his mind started to work on a new puzzle. He wanted the note he placed by her plate at dinner to be perfect.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This work was part of the het Big Bang on Livejournal. I've always liked Meg and Ray K together, so I decided to give writing them a try. Primroseburrows, Mark_Clark, and eviinsanemonkey were my wonderful betas.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story was written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> This is my first time posting a story here. I hope I do it right and don't embarrass myself.


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